Waifs and Strays
by LittleBounce
Summary: Nick's having trouble with his Grimm-life-work balance. Just because he's open minded about the type of wesen that wander into his life these days, it doesn't mean he wants to adopt them en masse. But one little guy is in a whole lot more trouble than he's letting on and needs a Grimm and his 'big gun' pals to come to his rescue... just as Renard is trying to come clean...
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys – this is just something fun – this story may have three or four parts – haven't decided yet! And is one of a series of short-ish stories while I work up to another longer one in the realm of United Federation. I hope you're not all feeling too listless and Grimmless in the states and that there's still room for some lighter-hearted fanfic in your lives!**

**Hope you enjoy…. Thanks for reading!**

**X x X**

Nick was absolutely desperate to go back to work. To do _anything_. Even help Wu with filing.

He'd been signed off for two months after cracking his head and busting his ear, but the surgery was long gone, his hearing was back, his balance – mostly – his Grimmstincts firmly in place, and he was bored witless. Even moving from the townhouse (full of Juliette memories) into his own flat, not far from Monroe's place, had taken all of two days with all his mates helping him out, and then he was back to twiddling his thumbs again. He kept telling himself that he'd lasted six weeks so far, another two off work wouldn't kill him, but he was convincing no one. Eventually, his mate Denny came up with a solution to fill up a week's worth of inactivity.

"You could take over the childcare for a few days. I really, _really_ need a job. I'm so far beyond skint, it's just not funny. Theo I can drop off at nursery, but Carianne's only seven weeks. I'm sort of… welded to her for a bit, while Jan's at work. When she's not welded to you, that is. You tried interviews with a munchkin trying to hide in your armpit? Doesn't open many doors, I can tell you."

Nick made a ridiculous decision in a calm moment, while he was relaxing on the sofa and Carianne was clean, fed, tidy, watered, and sleeping face down on his shirt with her bum in the air. "Sure, it'll keep me busy for a few days."

Nick had wildly underestimated the time, effort and patience it had taken Denny to get her organised into that state _before_ handing her over for a sleepy cuddle, and over the next few days, he acquired a whole new respect for both Jan and Denny for keeping even the most basic tiny-person functions ticking over in a routine manner. And Denny was pretty much new to this whole child-care 'malarkey', as he put it; he'd only been lodging with Jan a few weeks.

Monday, Carianne decided that darkness was the order of the day and would not pipe down unless she was hiding _under_ his jacket, forcing him to go out and get his shopping done while looking about six months pregnant. He stopped in at Monroe's place for a natter with Rosalee, who genuinely only had about a fortnight to go until due, and after a brief comparison of bumps she giggled so hard that it brought on the Braxton Hicks contractions and she had to go lie down.

Tuesday was enlivened by Carianne getting her foot stuck in the tap during bath-time. She was released through a combination of soap and ingenuity, but for a few horrible minutes, Nick thought he'd have to call either Jan to confess that he'd trapped his daughter in the kitchen sink forever or – worse – he'd have to call fire and rescue. The experience gave Nick a whole new perspective of the experience of 'panic'. Was this close to the dread that Wesen experienced when they locked eyes with him and saw a Grimm? If so, he was inclined to hang up his boots, so to speak. No one should go through life with that kind of dread in it.

On Wednesday morning, Nick nearly forgot that Theo was on a sleep-over at Matty's place. He picked up both kids from Bud and Janie's, spent a stressful ten minutes trying to fit two car seats into the back of his jeep – a bucket seat for Carianne and a mini-throne for Matty. He hit the South Portland Freeway to get them to nursery before breakfast finished, but drove carefully. Theo rode shotgun, keeping up an endless stream of conversation with Matty in the back seat, whose contribution, at about 16 months, was mostly "Yeah!"

Nick checked his mirrors before pulling into the middle lane to go straight across the ringroad, but it didn't stop some ass in a pickup from cutting right in front of him from the outside, and then nearly taking his hood out again when risking a cut into the inside. Nick felt his pulse rocket for just a moment but his rules were different when there were kids in the car. He didn't rise to other people's mistakes so much – he just felt the fright of a near-miss slightly more. Theo had no such parental concerns and zipped the window down indignantly as they came into line at the traffic lights.

Nick glanced sideways in alarm. "Theo! Put that back up, please!"

"Ey!" Theo bellowed out of the window, and to Nick's horror, the driver zipped his own window down quizzically, leaning his elbow out with a grin. It was a thick elbow, belonging to a big forearm, attached to a really big guy with a bullneck.

"What, kid?"

"Keep your lane, you spanner! You nearly crunched us!"

"Theo!" Nick barked, "window up! Now!"

Bullneck driver gaped, looked over to his buddy in the passenger seat, and spluttered, "Am I hearing this? I'm getting abuse from a _baby!_"

Nick groaned inwardly and prayed for the lights to change before blood – his, most likely – was spilt.

"I'm not a _baby_! I'm _three!_ Matty, say 'bugger off.'"

"Bugroff!" Matty cheerfully echoed, and Theo pointed a demonstrative thumb to the insult from the back seat.

"Now _that_ is getting abuse from a baby!"

Nick felt the steely glare of the driver in the side of his neck and glanced over calmly across the car and through the window gap. "Yes?"

"You going to apologise for your kids, or what?"

"Absolutely not." Nick fished into his glovebox and flashed his warrant card at the guy. "You going to apologise to me for negligent driving?"

The guy screamed away from the lights the moment they turned green, leaving him in peace. Well, as much peace as possible now that Carianne had woken up and was noisily demanding the dark sanctuary of his jacket again. Nick dropped the boys off, drove home with Carianne, and made an appointment with the doctor. He needed a fit-to-work note, urgently. He prayed for the peace and predictability of homicide, brutality and grand larceny.

Even the cases with a vicious wesen thrown in.

**X x X**

Nick's reception back to work was warm, but incomplete – no Hank at his desk. Wu was delighted to see him, having spent a week in London watching dreadful standup acts and wanting to inflict his second-hand puns on someone who hadn't heard them all – yet. Detective Hanna grunted and shook his hand, which was the nearest he ever came to saying anything openly pleasant. Hanna's long-suffering rookie, Livvy Andersen, bounded over with coffee for him and her usual dazzling, Mary-Poppins-on-speed smile, full of unwanted information about other people she knew who had done completely disgusting things to _their_ eardrums, but who hadn't coped as well as him.

But no Hank.

Nick logged into his email and was slightly startled to find 373 to work through, but then spotted Jan's post-it on his keyboard in his usual big black Capitals, suggesting six 'solved' case folder names and instructing him to mark all relevant emails as read, moving them across. Doing this depleted his reading down to about 30 mails, which he hammered through fairly quickly. He did note, while dipping into the end-summaries on the most recent cases, that Hank's name didn't appear on any of them. He finished the coffee that Livvy had made him (if she made her own with this much sugar and caffeine, it explained a whole lot about her 'supposed' ADHD) and went to knock on Renard's, temporarily Jan's, office door.

Jan – always Lieutenant Vergeer at work – gave him a friendly wave in while still on the phone and pointed at the chair opposite, mouthing 'won't be a moment, Nick'.

"…Well, Captain Renard is due back tomorrow, so I'd prefer to have it arranged before then, please. No. No I don't want to wait to ask him first. He's deputised me, I'm making the decision, and I'd like the training schedule sent over today, as initially requested two weeks ago… oh, you did? Ok – and you sent it to which email address? Well, that explains a few things. Perhaps you might have called me to let me know you'd had no response? Anyway, let's try that again…"

Nick sat back and grinned as Jan spelt his full name out, complete with the charming apology for the impossibility of the dutch pronunciation, and the typical "… but it is _said _'Yan… Fver-gkay-er'" stuck on the end of the sentence. Eventually something satisfactory pinged into Jan's inbox because he thanked the caller warmly and hung up. Then flicked two fingers up at the handset.

"Good God Nick, do these people want their cops trained, or don't they?"

Nick shrugged. "Of course. So long as it doesn't involve spending any money."

"Anyway – welcome back – of sorts." Jan leant over and gave his hand a brief, official shake.

It always tickled Nick how formal his friend was in the office, given the number of beers they shared at a weekend after recovering from the exertions of looking after small children. As a single Dad, Jan got the brunt of it, but Denny (primarily), Nick, Monroe and Hank all took up a huge amount of slack. Nonetheless, the line between pal and boss was drawn with a white line on the road. Neither of them crossed it, ever, while in the precinct. In some ways, it made life a lot easier.

"I got your fitness to work note – thank you. I've also observed the… nine or ten exemptions to your working activities." Jan frowned at the slip of paper. "It doesn't give me many delegation options for you except paperwork, to be honest. No leaping, no proximity to gunfire, no sprinting, no combat, no danger…."

"But I _can_ work," Nick insisted. "I'll help Wu with bringing stuff up from the file room. Anything."

"No lifting, alas," Jan added. "And though it doesn't say as much here, I presume we can add 'no Grimm-ing' to this this list." He drummed his fingers thoughtfully for a moment. "Look – I need to explain something to you about Hank. No doubt you'll have noticed that you suddenly have more leg room under your desk. I'll come back to that in a sec – nothing sinister, not to worry, but it does change the working landscape a bit."

Nick frowned. Actually, he hadn't heard from Hank for days. "Is he ok?"

"Oh he's fine! Don't worry." Jan flashed his brilliant smile at him. "Like I say, nothing sinister. But I just need to focus on _your_ work for a moment. Could you just call Hanna and Andersen in?"

Nick went over to the door, opened, and called them in. Andersen sprung past him like a hyperactive spring lamb, dashing her reddish-light brown ponytail in his face, Hanna stamped in after her like an arthritic Dirkfellig, keeping a revolted distance behind her. Nick couldn't like Hanna – the guy couldn't keep a single negative thought out of his face. It was almost as if he couldn't bear the world not knowing exactly how much he despised his partner. And he had one of those faces well designed for glowering: his eyes were close-set and his nose seemed to grow straight off his forehead, rather than from the dip below the eyebrows, like the rest of humanity.

Knowing how strict Jan was on strong partnerships, Nick was a little surprised that the two were still working together while he was acting up as Captain. The tension affected the whole squadroom – had done even before he got hurt and went off sick after Siege Night.

Jan stretched his legs out under Renard's desk and waved his hands at the extra chairs in the office. He tended to keep three or four handy, whereas Renard was strictly a two-chair guy. Livvy flounced into hers quite happily: Hanna chose to lurk at the back of the room, leaning on an admin cabinet. "Ok – you guys are on the Portland State hazing, correct?"

Hanna and Andersen nodded. Jan perused the file, out loud.

"The Pseudo-Psi's… unusual frat name… were seen dunking a prospect in a bucket of ice water, and he didn't come round. No help called, victim dried, redressed, and left in the woods as a hypothermia victim. Jesus, poor kid. A witness called it in, hasn't appeared, and a teenaged boy has since gone missing from the college…" Jan frowned. "This kid isn't old enough to be an undergrad! He's barely a junior!"

Andersen shrugged. "He's a prodigy. He did his MTACs when he was fourteen years old, is halfway through his AMSAC coursework, and is effectively a doctor already – on paper, that is. He can't actually start any kind of internship until he's a bit more…. Um… mature."

Nick raised a finger. "MTACs? What are those?"

Andersen beamed at him. She did that a lot, he noticed, not that he minded. "They're kind of like the exams you sit at high school to decide which medical college you get to go to. You have to do an essay, too. He did a really classy piece on secondary-level DNA." She shrugged a little sadly. "I got the impression from speaking to his parents that he'd been packed off to college just because he's smart enough and they wanted him out of their hair. It was a friend who told us he'd disappeared from the dormroom. She reckons he's hiding out in the Haverzake forest behind the campus. He's outdoorsy, despite his appearance."

Jan picked up a pen. "The only detail missing from this folder is the witness' name."

Andersen beamed again, quite firmly in Jan's general direction, this time, and Nick caught Hanna rolling his eyes. "I had the folder open while talking to the frat guys. They're weirdly good at reading upside down. I thought it best not to write it down just yet. His name is―"

"You could just… not take the folder in there with you. How's that for an idea?"

"His name's Warwick Presley," she went on, ignoring her partner. "Nearly seventeen, very slight – about 130lb, five foot two, listens to angsty music and dresses like it, too."

Nick pulled a face. "An emo?"

"An emo, Nick, that you need to find. These two are a little tied up with the perps." Jan handed the file over to him and stretched as he addressed the other detectives. "How many frat guys have you left to interview?"

"Six," Hanna said sourly. "Andersen takes her time with them."

Jan gave Hanna a thin smile. "We all have different styles, Gerry. Impressions of the frat boys?"

Hanna grunted. "Typical trust-fund kids. No sense of responsibility, a fair bit of attitude – some kid died in the woods, nothing to do with them."

"But they don't seem to realise there's a witness," Andersen added. "They're not twitchy. They're smug. They all think they're top of the food chain, nothing can touch them… whereas really, they're just an expensive bunch of alley-cats."

Jan grinned. "Ok – one to bear in mind. Thanks – carry on. Oh, Gerry – could I have a word with you, when I'm done with Nick?"

Hanna shrugged, stomped out again, followed by spring lamb, dashing her hair once again past Nick's face.

"Right Nick – Hank. He's on study leave. He was due to sit his Lieutenancy board last year, but for whatever reason, it didn't get arranged. So he's been sitting ignored on the promotion grid for some time. It's time he had the chance to broaden his prospects a little."

"Oh!" Nick blinked. "Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"Well, he seems to think so in theory, but in practice, I think he's finding the policing strategy theory a little heavy-going. It's something I can talk him through, but he's going to get nothing done while on cases. So, it's only for a short while, but unfortunately, you're on your own. For a little bit, until it becomes necessary to arrange something. I should also point out that as and when he does pass – because I'm sure he will – this will not be an overnight change. There are few lieutenancy places in Oregon so he'll stay your partner for a while until he gets placed." Jan shrugged. "If he even wants to be placed. At least the qualification gives him the choice."

"Right," Nick said faintly, slightly wondering why he hadn't heard all this from Hank already. But then, maybe Hank thought it might involve saying big, pre-emptive goodbyes, which he couldn't stand. Nick got that.

"I'll tell you more later – about the lack of communication on this." Jan clapped him on the shoulder. "Now, go find that witness. And remember the exemptions on your sick note, yes? Perhaps even take a copy to remind you of what you're not supposed to do?"

Nick rolled his eyes, but Jan was having none of it.

"Seriously, Nick. It may seem like a chore, but it's better than a slap round the face with a cold fish, which is what you _will _get if I notice any kind of self-endangerment, personal negligence, failure to call backup, and so on. Got that?"

Nick nodded reluctantly. "Sure."

"Right. Go charm the emos from the trees. Oh, by the way – Livvy's instincts aren't far off. The frat kids in interrogation? She called them all alleycats – they're South African Lowen. Pretty good going. Be discreet finding Warwick, ok?"

**X x X**

"One normal case," Nick muttered, slurping through ankle-deep sludge behind the Pseud-Psi frat house, "Is that too much to ask?"

Talking out loud was undignified but deliberate: he wanted Warwick to be able to track him as he made his fruitless way round the college perimeter and then return despondently to his car, luring the kid closer into the light. He'd left the Buick parked out front, where the hiding coverage was limited and he was most likely to spot a nervous watcher hiding and waiting for him to go away. But it was a long perimeter, he had torch-ache in his arms and wrists, and if he got stabbed in the shin by _one_ more sawn-off hemlock stump….

Nick missed Hank: this track would feel a lot shorter with him to talk to. He was a social creature. Working alone didn't suit him, and once re-partnered - if re-partnered - he didn't want to revisit the same pressure of having to keep his life as a Grimm a deep, dark secret. It was a massive relief to have Jan at the precinct now, also aware of him as a Grimm, also a powerful wesen in his own right, but it wasn't the same as the snarky partner in crime that was Griffin.

Nick came to an abrupt halt as a particularly sticky glut of mud threatened to suck his shoe off altogether, and felt a presence behind him before he heard the rustling. His instincts were getting very much stronger, these days. He put his hand slowly on the butt of his colt while making a highly visible display of trying to get his foot free. Wesley was apparently harmless: but there was nothing to say that others lurking in the woods on the campus grounds wouldn't be.

The rustling came from behind and above. Nick faked a slip and twist with the intention of almost landing on his back – muddying only his palm, knee and elbow, but the trail mud had different plans: the sudden jolt of his fake fall sucked his shoe off altogether, and he was forced to hop like a lunatic off the trail and into the treeline to balance against something before he completely soaked his foot in mud, too. The hop took him over the top of a sawn-off hemlock branch and he swore loudly as it barked his shin, toppling him a critical couple of feet away from the nearest tree, muddying him from forearm to sock.

He swore loudly and genuinely at the extra layer of mud this decorated him with, and rolled over onto his butt – what the hell – and caught a glance of a dark shape bunched up against the side of a tree, balanced on a branch eight feet up and ten feet behind. Too big to be an animal, too small to be a college first-year.

"Screw this!" he yelled for his watcher's benefit, dragged himself to his feet and creaked towards his car like a guy with a twisted ankle. The rustling intensified, then he heard wood crack and spun round, staring straight up into the tree. "Right, I know you're up there. I'm done with playing cat-and-mouse. Get down here, right now."

There was a sulky pause. "No."

Nick sighed. "Look, I know you're pretty scared. It's cold, it's dark – I'm guessing if you had somewhere to run to, you'd be there right now―"

"You don't know _anything_ about me!"

Was that the emo talking, or the teenager? Nick wondered. "No, I don't. But I don't plan to find out anything about you in the pitch black in hypothermic temperatures. Come down, and we can―"

"I'm happy up here!"

Nick lost his patience and his Grimm kicked in, his voice bursting into full force as he shone the flashlight into the tree. "_I don't care! Come down, or I'm coming up!_"

There was a split second of big green eyes in a narrow face (with a lip-piercing) peering down at him, widening in utter terror, then the kid's hair parted a little, he went blue and bony and long-toothed and plunged backwards out of the Larch with a scream. Nick managed to get between the kid and the ground and was quite firmly pounded as an elbow slammed him in the upper chest from a considerable drop. Nick was winded, but largely unhurt, thanks to the soggy ground. The kid was rolling around, grabbing his ankle, and yelling 'it's all your fault!' through intervals of sobbing.

Great – just what he needed to ease him back into work. A gracious geier.


	2. The Grimm-Life-Work Balance

**Hi guys – thanks a million for the lovely reviews – I hope you enjoy the continuance! I owe some very nice people some PMs – please forgive – my inbox seems to be opening but not saving responses at the moment, which is frustrating when I spend a while typing them up! I'm sure it will fix itself and I will get back to folks tomorrow, but I just wanted to say something in case it looked like I was ungraciously not-responding!**

**Anyway, I do not own Grimm, the characters, or the muddy clothes they walk around in!**

**X x X**

Once the kid grasped the fact that he was sitting there swearing and groaning, trying to recover from the elbow in the chest, he calmed a little but tried to turn himself into an invisible ball at the foot of the tree that he'd fallen from. This seemed a poor strategy to Nick: mostly, because the kid was blatantly visible, even in the darkness, black coat, tee-shirt, jeans and boots notwithstanding. Secondly, because if he really were the kind of Grimm that the kid evidently had nightmares about, he was unlikely to come over all merciful just because his prey had turned into a ball at the bottom of a tree.

But while the rest of the kid was crappy at hiding, the kid's face was _really_ good at hiding, and all he could see of Warwick's features through his curtainesque bangs was his lip-piercing and chin. Nick had no idea how people could go around with that much hair on their face. It would drive him absolutely insane.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said eventually, and the face popped instantly out of the hair.

"Totally the wrong tense! You just _have _hurt me! You scared me out of a fucking tree!"

"Language," Nick barked, feeling like a middle-aged man. "I'm a cop. That is why I'm looking for you. Not because I'm a Grimm."

"How do I know that?"

"Because I seriously have better things to do!" Nick threw his hands up in exasperation. "Look – as comfy as you may have been up in that tree, you disappeared shortly after a call was made reporting a death on campus. I've heard the call. I've matched your voice." He took a deep breath. The voice on the phone sounded scared and wanting to help. He tried to respect that. "I know that you tried to help the guy in the woods when you found him. There was nothing you could've done. But he didn't die by accident and the guys that killed him can't get away with it."

If anything, the kid curled into a smaller ball. "Have you ever heard of Wesen-rank?"

Actually, no. "Tell me," Nick said.

"Wesen have a circle of life – just like … animals. Lowen are at the top of the foodchain. The only wesen a Lowen will bow down to – except maybe a Grimm – is a Koninglowen. Maushertz and Reinigen kind of hover around the bottom. Geier… kind of circle round the outside, ignored by everyone, but we circle around Lowen for a reason. I'm not going up against that frat pack."

"You were brave enough to call it in."

The kid rolled his eyes, the whites very visible even in the darkness. "It's easy to be brave up a tree when no one can see you using your cellphone."

"They don't know they were witnessed." Nick peeled himself out of the mud and crept over to Warwick, hunkering down. "They're all smug and laughing it off right now, because they don't think we have a damn thing to pin on them."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"If you didn't want something to happen about the guy in the woods, why did you call it in?"

Warwick swished his hair dramatically in a way that made Nick long for a pair of scissors. "There's enough barbarism in this world. No one deserves to lie unnoticed on a forest floor."

Oh, crap. Nick clutched his head and sighed. Not just an emo. A thespian emo. He took a different tack. "Look – my colleague, Andersen, is doing a very good job of making them think that DNA is going to get them. All we need from you is a statement of what you saw. You need never see them again. We can get you transferred to a different college…"

"This is the only college that accepted me! I'm sixteen doing medical examinations – do you have any idea how hard it was getting in?"

Nick considered Jan's endless influential reach. "I think Lieutenant Vergeer can probably do something about that. Is there somewhere you'd rather go, given the choice, if access weren't a problem?"

"Maryland Scientific College," Warwick said immediately. "If I'd been a year older, I could've done lab work until I was old enough to qualify as an intern."

Nick smiled at the kid's enthusiasm, remembering what Andersen had said about his classy paper on secondary DNA. "Studying parahumans?"

"How did you know?"

"Makes sense, really, given your dissertation topic. Why don't we go back to the precinct – rear exit, you can talk to Andersen, then we can talk to Vergeer?"

The kid at least accepted his hand up, but Nick noted that he had to take a fair bit of weight getting him to the car. And he was frozen, for all his up-a-tree bravado. But clearly he felt that he'd been too enthusiastic and happy about life, because he added sulkily, "What's so special about this Lieutenant of yours?"

"He's a Koninglowen, Warwick," Nick said, almost proud of Jan's top-of-tree wesenbreed. "He's not going to let the frat boys get away with anything."

This seemed to convince the kid just enough to get him into the car. Wincing and whining every step about his posterior talofibular ligament. "And I'll need somewhere to stay tonight. I can't go back to college after disappearing, and I'm not going home."

"Why not?"

Warwick sniffed. "I can't tell you. You wouldn't understand."

Nick resisted the urge to smack his forehead on his steering wheel as he waited for his engine to warm up. "No, and I'm not likely to, unless you tell me. Grimms are not psychic, ok? You may feel the fear of God looking into our eyeballs―"

"Fear of sin and discovery," the kid cut in.

"Whatever!"

"It's a big difference."

Nick rewound that part of the conversation. It was something that had always plagued him, and Warwick seemed weirdly knowledgeable. "Ok – sin and discovery? So what did you think I'd discovered when I caught you up the tree?"

"It's a bit more visceral than that. I haven't done anything massively shitty in my life – or at least, I don't think I have – but I feel that I've been pressurised into it and that in different situations, I would react like a much worse person. Like a Geier. I don't live at home because I don't want to react like a Geier. My parents want me to do shitty things and if I go home, I know I'll do them. And when I meet your eyes, or hear the bottom-of-the-pit echo in your voice, I feel that you _know_ what I would do, could do, or what I've thought about doing. You're like a walking judgement day. Do you get that?"

Nick swallowed. It was probably the closest thing he'd ever heard to a clear, if tangled explanation, of why the hell people were so scared of him. He wondered at Monroe ever getting used to him. And then sticking with him, along with Rosalie, as his fuller Grimm – the stare, the voice, the strength… and recently the sixth-sense indication of danger - matured out of the wesen-spotting mess that he'd initially acquired when Marie passed away. "I'm a walking Judgement Day?"

"Yeah. Without wanting to be rude."

Nick laughed mirthlessly. "No offence taken. Look, I need to swing by my place on the way to the precinct. Just briefly."

The eyes widened visibly, even behind the curtain. "We're going to your lair?"

"What?" Just as Nick felt he was making genuine Grimm-wesen progress, people came out with this ridiculous shit. He screeched the car to a halt as he pulled up on Montrose avenue outside his flat to grab spare, clean sneakers. Clothes he had, in his cabinet at work. "How do you people think Grimm's househunt? It's not like there's some fucking website 'Lairs Unlimited', is there? Get your own free revolving armoury fireplace if you pay 12% on deposit?"

Warwick blinked. "Alright, alright! Testy!"

"Well, for God's sake…" Nick stepped out of his car and stamped up the fire escape to his back door. He was in and out of his place in moments, back in the car and driving again before he'd really had the chance to shake his irritation off. But apologised anyway. "Sorry about swearing at you. The whole Grimm thing's a… touchy subject with me these days. I'm a cop, ok? No one knows about me at work except the Koninglowen, and he's a secret too. Deal with me as a cop, and I'd appreciate it. Besides, it's not me you'll be dealing with – it's Detective Andersen. She's a good kind." Weird, but good.

"What if I forget that you're a secret Grimm?" Warwick looked genuinely worried, and Nick realised he must have had a face of thunder.

"We'll cross that bridge if you're daft enough to step on it." But the kid was a genius, after all. "I don't think we need to worry, do we?"

"Um…" Warwick squeaked satisfyingly. "No…."

**X x X**

Nick left Warwick to Livvy's tender mercies and looked cautiously across the squad room to Renard / Jan's office, wondering if he could get to the cabinet by his desk, grab his spare clothing, then shower and change without too many questions being asked about his activities. It was nearly seven, anyway: Jan's parental demands meant that he'd be out of here in fifteen minutes when Denny and the kids swung by after nursery pick-up to get their lift home.

Jan faced the whiteboard on the back wall of the office, poring over a couple of huge grid printouts on the far left side, intently cross referencing and making bizarre notes with his right hand, while keeping track of a calculation on the fingers of his left. He looked completely engrossed. Nick hunched down a little and crept past the open office door, coming within a half-metre of his under-desk cabinet.

"Come in, Nick!"

"Gnnn!" Nick straightened in frustration. How, _how_ did Jan do that? He shuffled his way into the office and shut the door behind him.

"I can hear a folded skulk from hundred yards, you know that," Jan murmured, then tapped the hyper-polished right side of the whiteboard. "Besides, you're reflecting. Andersen pinged by to tell me you'd recovered Warwick Presley. Thank you. Was it reasonably straightforward?"

Nick chuckled wearily. On balance, yes. He'd gone for a messy walk in the dark, and then his witness fell on him. He'd dealt with trickier quarry. "Yeah, it was fine. Pretty low energy expenditure, all told."

"I'm very glad to hear it. Good job." Hands on hips, Jan continued to puzzle over the confuse-o-gram pinned up on the wall. It looked to Nick like he was trying to work out the world's most evil "recreational" logic problem: the type where you're provided with a deductive reasoning grid, then supplied with seven or eight incomprehensible clues of dubious grammatical credibility, which are supposedly sufficient to help you fill out the entire grid with ticks and crosses and determine which foolish child fell off which item of playground equipment, pushed by whom, and at what time. He didn't envy Jan his admin burden in the slightest.

"What the hell are you trying to work out?"

"I'm trying to coordinate Incident Room shift patterns," Jan muttered. "On call, versus civilian staff, versus officers. There's no headache pill big enough for this kind of migraine, trust me."

Nick frowned. He didn't recall Portland PD even having an 'Incident Room'. "How come you get dumped with doing that?"

"Renard does, actually, but he's not here. The Mayor wants a public order and emergency crisis system set up that's a little better coordinated across the 'blue-light' services – that's EMT, fire and Police, to you and me. The local press gave him a hammering about the 'travesty' of the emergency response to the Tennant's Bar riot. So I'm trying to pin down a better three-way communication system. Anything's better than explaining that it was all down to bunch of strung-out Klaustreich after my blood."

Jan transposed a final scribble from the whiteboard onto the margin of the enormous grid, peeled the huge grid printout off the whiteboard and turned with an initial flash of friendly smile which wilted as he looked Nick up and down.

"Good god. Are you ok?"

Nick shrugged. "Fine."

Jan slapped the whiteboard marker onto the admin cabinet, which clanged resoundingly. "Nick, I don't want to seem critical, but people who are 'fine' don't usually turn up looking so… exasperatingly muddy!"

"My mud's upsetting you, is it?"

"You look like you got dragged backwards through a mudbath by a rapid Nilpherd! How many sick note rules did you break, exactly?"

Nick didn't think he'd actually broken any – to his recollection – and irritably fished his note out of his back pocket for reference. He hadn't leapt, sprinted, exposed himself to gunfire, willingly endangered himself… he went through his list of exceptions and did find one infraction. "One – I had to lift a little. Warwick twisted his ankle coming out of the tree and couldn't make it to my car."

"Dare I ask what Warwick was doing up a tree?"

"Warwick's a Geier."

"Oh for crying out loud…" Jan collected himself with a deep breath. "And he leapt on you, I suppose, as Geiers tend to do?"

Nick mentally relived the scene, rubbing his upper chest ruefully where the kid's elbow hit home. "Actually, he's a nervous Geier. I did… _initially_… try 'charming the emos from the trees', as you put it, but he didn't want to play ball, so I yelled at him. And then he didn't so much leap down as…plummet."

"Excuse me one moment, Nick." Jan pulled over his laptop and hammered out what looked like a couple of urgent but incredibly concise emails, before saving, powering down, and shoving the tiny PC into his bag along with his folded printouts. The whole business looked to Nick like Jan taking the opportunity to compose his thoughts, and he turned out to be right. Jan looked at him evenly and folded his arms. "I need to be frank about this. I'm concerned about your definition of 'low energy expenditure'―"

Nick felt his temper rising. "It's not like I go out looking for an opportunity to 'release the Grimm'! If anything, I only use it when I need to, which is usually when I slam across wesen in the line of my work!"

"Can I finish, detective?"

Nick gritted his teeth and stepped back over the white line in the sand, barely able to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "Sorry, Lieutenant."

"I realise all of this. I'm sorry, Nick. I thought I was cutting you a break, sending you out on something easy and routine. But with about a third of the Portland population being wesen, if anyone needs back-up, it's you. So I've brought forward your re-partnering. As of tomorrow morning, Olivia Andersen is your rookie. At least until Hank gets back."

Nick gaped. "I thought you were trying to _reduce_ stress and energy expenditure in my life?"

"Andersen has excellent instincts, is very self-sufficient in handling herself, and is completely frank about what's going on in her head. I know her level of personal honesty is sometimes… unsettling, but you won't get any of the slightly uncomfortable silences that you sometimes get with male-female partner pairings."

There won't be many silences of any sort _at all_, Nick thought, thinking of the way that Andersen's constant chatter had once driven them all out of the building on non-existent errands after she'd had an extended date with the coffee machine in the morning.

"And," Jan went on mercilessly, "there's a good deal of the big-brother about you that we're not really using, Nick. I was twenty nine when I got my first rookie. Consider yourself having been let off easy for three years, in that respect."

Nick sighed heavily. "I'm just not rejoicing at having to hide what I am from someone else."

"I understand that, but you may find Andersen easier to handle than others in that respect. Anyway, this is not a discussion. I've got to get some last bits together, so could you send her in before you go?"

"Ok." Then it occurred to Nick. "What about Detective Hanna?"

"I think that partnership has run its natural course. I've spoken to him already. Anyway, as for tomorrow, you won't have much contact anyway. She'll be finishing off with interrogating the Lowen, you'll be running alibi checks. On the phone. From your desk. If you can engineer peril out of _that_ particular task, I'm sending you off sick again." Jan looked up at the clock. "Ok – we're off shift. If you don't mind Carianne's car seat squashing your ribs, we can drop you off on the way back."

"Thanks. I'll take you up on that." It was only a half-hour run to and from the precinct for him these days, but Nick did feel tired. He turned to leave the office only to be nearly barged into by a very angry Theo charging in, dressed as Iron Man and full of indignation. Whatever catastrophe was on his lips to share with his father was apparently postponed as he stopped and looked Nick up and down with awe.

"Did you catch a bogmonster?"

"Sort of."

"Are you ok?"

"I'm _fine_ thanks, Theo." As Theo found the only clean bit on him, three fingers on his right hand, and gave them a companiable tug, Nick didn't know whether to feel touched or vaguely depressed at this display of complete compassion… from a three-year-old. It was a sad indictment of the way his life was going. "What, just a finger-tug? You don't want a hug, then?"

"No thanks, Nick. You can keep your mud."

Nick laughed in spite of himself. "What went wrong with your day? You don't look happy."

Denny appeared at the door behind Theo, Carianne tucked up into his shoulder, urgently signing and mouthing _keep a straight face._

"I got SNOGGED," Theo spat in outrage. "It was _awful _and dreadful and yuck."

"It was dressing up day for charity," Denny explained. "I did warn him – good looking young fella, dressed as iron man, surrounded by princesses – it's not going to end well. But no… he has to have his own way with the costume."

"Have _you_ been snogged, Nick?" Theo demanded.

Nick fought for an age-appropriate response. "Uh, yeah. But it gets less dreadful as you get older."

Theo gaped, his awed little face growing more humiliatingly sympathetic than ever. "Snogging happened to you more than _once_? Poor Nick. It's not easy being a Grimm."

Denny bit back a snort but darted conspicuously round the corner to laugh his head off out of Nick's punching range.

Jan cleared his throat. "Theo, no G-word in the precinct with my door open, ok?"

"Sorry Dad. Sorry, Nick."

"Ok. Well, I'm not quite done here. Please take 'poor Nick' back to his desk and look after him for five minutes? I've got to speak to the lady with the red hair, then I'll be ready to come home. Ok?"

**X x X**

As a gesture of good will, Nick left his number with Livvy before leaving the precinct, offered to have a proper get-to-know-you coffee before the shift started, and left with Jan, Denny and the kids. The car ride home _was _cramped, and yes, Carianne's bucket seat cramped his ribs something terrible, but he was invited in for dinner on the way back and in his current state of mind, he didn't really fancy eating defrosted ravioli on his own. Ravioli reminded him ridiculously of Juliette. Not that she was square and ridgy round the edges, but you get certain favourite-food associations in your mind.

The kids got fed and went to bed happily enough – though Carianne was unwilling to be separated from Denny until he turned all the lights off upstairs to keep up her only-darkness-will-do act – then they got to discussing Nick's life-work-Grimm balance, then inevitably his sex life. It was agreed, generally, that Nick was spending too much time alone.

"I virtually live here!" Nick protested. "Or at Monroe's. I don't actually have that much time on my own."

"Female company," Denny sighed. "I know you're terminally monogamous in spirit, if not in relationship, but there comes a time in your life where a non-flame-haired female must surely come to your attention."

Nick rolled his eyes. "What do you suggest I do?"

"You could go on a date, perhaps." Denny shrugged at the disbelieving stare that Nick shot him. "What? A bit of a boost! Make you feel better about things. Heaven forfend you might have a kiss or even a good shag― ow!"

Jan had flicked Denny mildly upside the head, but the damage was already done – Theo was yawning in the doorway, teddy in hand.

"That's ok, I know what a shag is."

Nick noticed Jan's silent but thunderous look in Denny's general direction, and equally, Denny's innocent hands-in-the-air, nothing-to-do-with-me expression.

Theo looked knowledgeably up at Nick as he swigged on his beer. "It's a messy seabird that craps on rocks. But, Denny! How's a shag going to make Nick feel any better, even if it _is_ good? Nick's quite tidy― apart from just then. That _wasn't_ very tidy, Nick."

Nick ejected most of the beer he'd inhaled into his chest with the first couple of coughs but was slightly embarrassed by the initial spray of Peroni that he'd blasted across the coffee table.

"I'll get you another, shall I?" Denny said wearily, heading for the kitchen. "Try not to waterboard yourself with this one, eh?"

"I think it's time I went," Nick managed between splutters, his eyes still watering. He didn't really want to get into the value of a 'good shag' anyway, as Denny put it. Jan bore Theo off to bed, firmly, and with a quiet talk about adult-talk-after-bedtime.

"Fair enough." Denny saw Nick to the door. "Got an interview invite by email, anyway. Tomorrow evening – Incident Room Silver Command. Fingers crossed, eh? Actually – it'll be just when I drop the kids off with Jan, so, if he's not ready, could you keep them happy at your desk for ten minutes while I prepare, etc?"

Nick grinned. "Sure. I'll set up a darkroom for Carianne at half six. See you tomorrow."

The taxi rank was opposite Jan's place and he hopped over the road and straight into a yellow-and-black. His phone buzzed madly in his pocket. Unknown number, but he answered anyway – and clicked on the green to be met by a mad, panicked, Livvy babble.

"What? Livvy – slow down."

"He ran off, Nick."

Nick frowned. "Who ran off?"

"Warwick! I got him to within ten yards of his house, opened the door for him, went up the front path to his parents' home, looked back and… poof! Bermuda triangle – right outside their place. Who knew? But he's gone, I've looked in all his haunts―"

"Ok – ok. Calm down." Nick was sure that there were some kind of social rules about the usual gap of time between giving your number to someone and them actually using it, but it didn't seem the time to be precious about this. He was almost home. He tried to think of a what's-next strategy that gave him time to get home and think about this properly over a coffee before darting out again to help her.

"Look Nick – I know there's usually this expectation that you don't get a panicked call within, like, a few hours of giving someone your number, but…" Nick was staring so hard at the phone that he nearly missed what came next. Was she a fricking mind-reader? "… but I _am _in a panic, ok? I'm panicking, you're reasonably nice and have a sensible head on you, and I'd really, really like you to tell me what the hell I'm supposed to do next."

Nick's cab pulled in and he saw a familiar ball curled up at the foot of his door on the first floor. He smacked his head mildly against the window. Warwick remembered the way to his place. So much for the Grimm-work-life balance.

"Don't worry Livvy – I think I know where he is. Let me call you back in five."


	3. And so it begins

**Hi guys – thanks for the great reviews! Hope you continue to enjoy – here's part three… and the beginning of the bigger, more sinister picture (mwahahha, etc).**

**I do not own Grimm, the characters…. Etc etc….**

**X x X**

Nick strode up his steps, wondering whether it was more stupid of him as a cop to have revealed where he lived, or more stupid as a Grimm. It was a close-run thing. But the route from his place to the precinct was complicated and it hadn't even occurred to him that the kid would reverse-plot the route, let alone figure out how to get here from somewhere completely different. Eidetic memory? Possibly. Nick cleared the first landing. Warwick had awkwardly clambered to his feet but was now huddled in the corner of the door and wall, almost invisible with the black-on-black combination of clothing, doorpaint and shadow. What gave his presence away was the glint of light bouncing off his crutches and the moon falling on the white plastercast sticking out of the bottom of his trench coat.

Nick leant against the brick-thick wall separating his bit of 'veranda' from his neighbour's and clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. "Well… you can hide, but you can't run."

"Very funny!" Warwick's white face emerged from both hair and gloom, peering crossly up at him. "I thought we had some kind of deal? That you were going to talk to the Lieutenant about moving me, and that I wasn't going home?"

Nick frowned. "Ok… I think that's an entire section of our conversation that you had all by yourself. We made no deals. I told you what we could do to help – further down the line – about your college, and I will speak to Vergeer in the morning. I assured you that no-one had to know you'd made a statement about the hazing – and they won't. I haven't broken any deals so far."

"Oh… don't be such a lawyer! I know it doesn't really matter whether you speak to your boss tomorrow or next week about my college, but the main point in our conversation, I thought, was that I couldn't go home! I thought you'd grasped that and passed it on to that slightly… nutsy lady."

Nick ground his teeth. Genius or not, Warwick was about five-foot-six of undiluted pest. Certainly not 5-2, as reported in his file. Maybe the midget illusion was caused by all the self-hating hunching he did. Suppressing the urge to drop the kid in the shrubberies on the ground floor, he struggled to remain the adult in the conversation. "You've got a real skill for getting people on your side, you know. What makes you think that bitching at me on _my_ doorstep is going to get you invited in?"

Warwick straightened dramatically and sniffed. "I should've known you wouldn't help. Fine."

"Whatever!" Nick opened his front door, made a show of snapping some cosy lights on, and let Warwick fight with his crutches down three steps until the undignified exit was just too painful to listen to. Of course he had no intention of letting him go anywhere – Warwick was a minor. He put his door on the latch and sat on the top step while Warwick winced huffily down step number four. "Where are you going to go?" he asked eventually.

"What do you care?"

"Serious question. I'm genuinely interested in how far you think you're going to get in a plaster cast at eleven at night."

Warwick stopped and looked back at him, sweating slightly with the effort of using the crutches, even though it was freezing outside. "You're the one that wouldn't let me in."

"No," Nick intoned, "I didn't say I wouldn't let you in. I just told you, in a fairly direct way, that you had no people skills. If you hadn't started the conversation by whining at me, you could be having a warm drink by now."

"You could've started the conversation by not mocking me!"

"You could've recognised a very, very old joke when you heard one. Life is full of mocking. You've got to grow a thicker skin. At least don't make decisions that threaten your own safety just because you're pissed at someone." Nick trotted down the steps, took Warwick's crutches and helped him back up them again.

"You're a Grimm," Warwick muttered, wincing with every hop. "What do you know about being mocked?"

Nick laughed hollowly. "Bar one wonderful woman, all my friends are guys – all of them are older, and two of them are giants. Believe me, I know about getting mocked. Come on, let's get in."

The kid sighed with real, physical relief as they got into the warmth of the apartment and he closed the door behind them. The change in temperature brought on a miniature wave of shivering shock that turned Warwick's legs into noodles and Nick found himself almost having to carry the bedraggled emo over to the armchair. "Ok, look. Sit there and de-frost for a moment – I'll go get you something warmer to wear. Then I _have_ to call my partner and let her know you're here."

"Why?"

"Because you're sixteen, reported missing, and she's probably had her head torn off by your parents by now for _almost_ delivering you to their house." He snapped the kettle on, trotted into his room, and dug out his United Federation thermal top. His phone started ringing just as he got back into the front room and he tossed the top over to Warwick while answering Livvy, whose babbling was almost twice the speed of her earlier babbling.

"Liv – take a breath. I've found him."

There was a long, shaky sigh of relief at the other end. "Oh thank God. Shall I come pick him up?"

Warwick was examining his United Federation thermal Tee curiously and frowned at the legend on the front: 'Dude's bigger than he looks'. He mouthed: _Okay, I take it back. You __**do**__ understand mocking. _ Nick flipped him a good-natured bird and focussed on his conversation with Livvy.

"Uh… no, not just at the moment. Let's just say he's got home issues―"

"Oh you don't have to tell me that. His parents are creepy! Look, I'm some distance from the house, we can talk freely. Where are you?"

"He… came to my place."

"Gnnnnnn!"

Nick blinked. Ok… unusual reaction. "I dropped off here for shoes on the way back to the precinct and I wasn't… expecting him to remember where my place was."

"Oh, I don't mean _that_ – hardly your fault that he's a walking GPS system, I _mean_… why have you allowed him to appeal to your inner sucker? Call social services! You are entitled to a life without emos on your doorstep!"

Jesus. How could he even begin to explain this? "It's a little complicated."

"You know Jan's going to have your balls, right? I mean, he might have them quietly and in that really understanding voice of his, but putting Warwick up for the night yourself is breaking _so_ many rules."

"I'm not… planning on telling Jan, just yet. I think there's more to this than meets the eye, and when I get to the bottom of it, I'll risk Jan. But in terms of his parents, tell them that… I'm arranging overnight accommodation and that he can make statements in the morning."

"Fine. You know that get-to-know-you coffee? Well, I'm coming round your place to have it – first thing. We need to get our stories straight about how little I know about you putting Warwick up. Address!"

Nick gave it to her, feeling a little headachey, and wondering whether it was less wise to have Warwick know where he lived or Livvy. When he hung up, Warwick was in his top, looking small and fraught.

"Got you into trouble, didn't I?"

"We'll see. Ok – start talking. No theatrics, please."

"My parents are with the Verrat."

Nick's jaw dropped. "Ok, so no theatrics, but perhaps a little build-up―"

Warwick looked serious. "Look, I've come to you because you're a Grimm, clearly not the lair-keeping kind, and there's stuff you need to know. The Verrat are all over Portland, all over Maryland, and they're gathering because they're waiting for me to do something that I'm not going to do. I was researching… something. I believed in what I was doing, to begin with, but I destroyed all my notes and specimens as soon as I realised what it was going to do to people." He took a quick, choking breath. "Irvine and Blake saw me doing it and Henry tried to defend me."

Nick cut in, trying to keep on top of the flow of information a little. "Henry was the hazing vic?"

"He wasn't a vic! And it wasn't a hazing. Henry Morecombe was my friend and he… he…"

Nick sat back a little as Warwick woged to Geier in stress. And then something beyond Geier. He could only stare as the teenager hastily ripped the borrowed United Federation thermal off, dropped to his knees, and went on from his pale blue, bony state to develop pale grey feathers and then threw out wings that must have been seven-foot wide each. Ok – full vulture. Nick caught his breath. So that's how Warwick got here – he flew. He felt a complete idiot – with that foot, the kid couldn't have run or walked it. And he couldn't have gotten away from Livvy any other way. Warwick shrugged his wings at him almost apologetically then almost snapped back to human. Nick had never seen a reverse shift happen so fast, and when it was complete, Warwick tipped over sideways like a plank, sweating and trembling.

Nick leapt over and grabbed Warwick. "What do you need?"

"S'mthing sweet…"

Nick bolted into the kitchen and returned with a bag of sugar and a spoon. He levered Warwick upright. "Here―"

Warwick opened his eyes and looked at the bag blearily. "No… no, that's too sweet."

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Nick charged back into the kitchen, pulled his fridge open, and examined the possibilities for half-sweet. He found orange juice, chucked some in a glass, made a puddle, and took it back over to Warwick, half pouring it down his throat. A few minutes later Warwick's colour had returned and he was lying down on the sofa, getting his breath back.

"You ok?" Nick asked at last. "You know, if you'd said 'diabetic', I'd have headed straight for the orange juice instead of trying to shove Demerara sugar down your neck."

"I'm not diabetic – I'm an experiment."

"An experiment with very diabetic outcomes, apart from the feathers. And the wings." Nick had a headache in earnest now. "Ok… let me just get some coffee and a pad, then take me back to Henry Morecombe, Irvine and Blake. Let me get my cop head on before we cover the whole 'experiment' thing."

Warwick stepped through things, backwards. Henry Morecombe was his lab partner. Also smart, very much on the geeky side, very much an unsuspected Blutbad – unsuspected even to Warwick, who was still completely shaken by his death. Irvine and Blake were two of the Lowen frat boys. Their parents were with the Verrat – the rest of the lowen were wise-asses and nasty, but not involved in anything more sinister than covering up what they probably genuinely believed to be a hazing accident.

"What were you studying, really?"

"Technically, medicine – on paper. Actually, using the lab facilities to reverse-engineer someone else's work."

"Whose?"

"Erneste Brinkerhoff's."

"Gah!" Was there no getting away from the man?

Warwick startled, slightly. "Uh… heard of him?"

"Far more familiar with him than I wanted to be, yes. Anyway – reverse-engineer his work… how?"

"Well – he was trying to suppress the wesen in the human form, right? Well, the Verrat are desperate to shed the human outer layer on the wesen form – making themselves as powerful as possible. Becoming on the outside what they are underneath – but in full form. There are only three 'breeds' of wesen that can fully woge naturally without it becoming a killer-event. Koninglowen, Legensauger – though no one really wants to be a leech, anyway – and―"

"Bavarian Alpha," Nick finished for him. He could kind of see where this was going. "So presumably these frat guys – Irvine and Blake – their parents are hoping that some kind of serum's going to turn them into Koninglowen?"

Warwick shrugged. "What can I say? Species envy. The Konings can lift cars, even in their human form. Who'd not want to be able to do that?"

Not something Nick had ever seen Jan doing. Sure, he was strong, but… he couldn't help feeling that things were being overblown to legendary proportions in the heat of envy. "So what happened to you?"

"I was a childhood experiment. I was given an injection when I was about four and it… well, you've seen what it did. But I'm ill, Nick. Apart from the difficulties in wogeing back to human, I've got about five other fairly unmanageable conditions because some idiot thought it was all about suppressing brain impulses. That's the principle that Brinkerhoff was working with as well."

"But it's about… DNA?"

"Breeds are totally inseparable," Warwick agreed sadly. And suddenly he looked more like Nick's own age than a teenager. "We are what we are – whether we're human, or wesen, or… messed around with. There is no stupid serum that's going to kill one half of someone, or make one half of someone stronger. It's just DNA, and if the Verrat start injecting themselves and their followers with crazy serums, they're just going to tear themselves to pieces. Not that I care about what happens to them, but…"

"Insanity spreads," Nick finished for him. But something didn't quite make sense. "You must have found something that did come close to working, in specimen at least, or you wouldn't have started destroying stuff."

"I found a way to replicate Brinkerhoff's theory – in stemcells. How to split the DNA before the embryo's formed. Give that kind of information to the Verrat, and you're talking about mass eugenics. Kill off the human in wesen before they're born."

Nick got up unsteadily. "Uh… I think I need a beer. I may even need a smoke, although I don't actually… Just give me a minute."

He had two. He downed the first and chugged the second steadily, while getting Warwick another juice. Talk about shaken. The whole nightmare with reapers hunting him down for the key didn't rattle him this badly. Partly because he couldn't get his head around the idea of that many Royal families and what they planned to do when they got the key. It was a map to – something, that would bring about… something awful.. but there were too many somethings in that equation for the threat to seem real to him, despite the very real appearance of various Hundjagers, Nucklavees and other forms of evil death-threat in his and his friends' lives.

This was different – the threat that Warwick had set out for him seemed real and tangible and he understood it – sort of – on a scientific level. And he'd seen the results – a very sick young Geier who couldn't shift without falling over.

He turned back to Warwick, who was in danger of falling asleep on the couch. Nick flicked a look over at the clock – 3am. Hell, it was late. It took the kid a fair while to walk him through the frat 'hazing' and what he'd actually seen. There was just one thing he wanted to get his head around before the kid dropped off altogether.

"It's good… that you saw what was possible and sabotaged your own research. It's brave. But what I don't understand is… if you have such strong feelings about it, how did you let yourself get sucked into studying parahumans for those purposes in the first place?"

Warwick looked sad as well as sleepy. "I was brought up in a household where I was encouraged never to be ashamed of what I was, or hide it. It wasn't all nightmares and child abuse, you know." He sighed. "Check out my parents' place, or ask your partner to describe it. They didn't get that with their morticians' salaries. Powerful people heard I was smart and promised them the earth. They believed them, and put pressure on me. It was only actually – ironically – me coming to college to do what they wanted me to do that gave me the chance to meet other people, like Henry, and change my mind about the whole kill-off-the-human-shell thing."

Nick nodded. "And they'd abandon you now, because?"

"Because they'd told quite a few of their 'friends' – including Blake and Irvine's parents – how close I was to making their dreams come true. So now I've ruined things for them… I'm never going home, Nick. They're not the people who brought me up."

Warwick looked dangerously close to crying, so Nick wandered off to get him blankets and bedding. When he returned, Warwick had nodded off, so Nick covered him over, left his juice in reach range, and snapped the front room lights off. He went to bed himself but didn't sleep. A third of the population in Portland was wesen, Jan had said. What proportion of those, Verrat? God, he had to talk to the guys. It looked like a storm was brewing.

**X x X**

Stiff and sleepless, Nick heard hammering on his door at 7am, stuck his grey-brown v-neck on along with his jeans and creaked over to answer it. He found Livvy bounding on the other side of it, looking stressed and cold.

"Hey." He waved her in but she stood there staring intently at him, cheeks flushed, as he leant against the doorjamb. "You ok, Livvy? Going to come in…or?"

She seemed to snap out of whatever trance she was in and pinged indoors, rubbing her arms. "That was a long night," she observed, then caught his eye. "For you, too, huh? Oh man, you look tired."

"Just a little bit. Coffee?" Nick rubbed his hand through his hair absently, hoping this would wake up his brain a little. Livvy certainly needed something: she had a bad case of the morning stares and was still bouncing with cold.

"Yesplease. A nice big one. In a flowerpot or vase or something if you've got one. Excuse me!"

"I have _cups_," Nick offered wearily. "But I'll make you two. Livvy?" He turned back round and she'd disappeared. Maybe an emergency toilet stop. He shrugged, got four cups out – making two up to her deadly recipe - and snapped the kettle on. Five minutes later she still hadn't reappeared. He crept over to his bathroom door and rapped lightly. "Coffee's ready. You ok?"

"Fine!" she piped back, shrilly.

"You don't sound fine―"Nick realised that the door wasn't properly shut and he pushed lightly against it in case she'd pinged herself into a shelf and was trying to conceal a nosebleed or something. She was leaning over the sink, her face stuck in a basin of water. What the…? He tapped her shoulder lightly and she surfaced indignantly.

"Don't come in! Oh shit, you're already in…"

"Livvy – what's wrong?"

She glared indignantly at him, her face flaming, despite the icy-water dunking. "If you must know, I'm finding you ludicrously attractive all of a sudden and trying to get a grip. Could you please leave the coffee… there…" she pointed firmly at the toilet sistern, "and give me five minutes? Or fifteen, even?"

Nick blinked. For a moment, he thought he was being subjected to an early and heavy dose of the legendary Andersen-honesty-malfunction that everyone talked about, but then remembered that he hadn't taken his anti-pheromone pills yet. Crap! He dashed over to his shelf, got the pot out and downed two, just as Warwick was hobbling in. "Morning, Warwick. Could you take Livvy her coffees?"

"Coffees?"

Nick pointed out the ones with two tablespoons of coffee and sugar each. "That one and that one. You don't want either of them by mistake, trust me."

"Right…" Warwick limped off with them and returned a moment later, looking bewildered. "She says… thanks for the coffee and that she'll come out, but not until you've changed into something baggier, and not one of your – I quote - 'earthy, form-fitting, v-necked long-sleeved-tees.' Apparently she can't cope with that sort of thing before eight in the morning."

Nick headed off to his room to change, examining his wardrobe for loose-ish options. Form-fitting? As far as he was concerned, his clothes fit, period. Nevertheless, he tracked down the black sweater he kept for the period between Xmas and New Year when he used to get invited to Uncle George's for the annual artery-bursting two-day party, and trotted back into the kitchen.

Warwick gazed at him speculatively. "You're taking this… open crush of hers very calmly."

Nick grinned and shrugged, choosing to keep some things to himself, since the kid appeared immune to his pre-pill pheromones anyway (thank God). "There are _some_ elements of being a Grimm that aren't worth getting upset about."

**X x X**

Denny was up and dressed and condemning the kitchen to GnR's 'Paradise City' by the time Jan crept down the stairs ready for work, clutching his head. Fucking spreadsheets. The first thing he was inclined to do when he got to the precinct was track down the address of the ruthless bastard who'd invented pivot tables and send a Lausenschlange around to give them a boa-constrictor hug. A hard one. Denny had his back to him at the kitchen counter, weighing Carianne in a mixing bowl lined with a blanket, on a pair of digital scales. She was folded up like a little Buddha and looked very, very confused.

"Eight weeks, seven ... pounds... nine," Denny muttered, entering the details onto some kind of online form, then ruffling her head. "Ok Pickle, you're still far too weeny. Even for a preemie. Looks like I'm going to have to crack and take you to that godawful clinic. Right, let's get you dressed again."

Jan poured them both coffee from the counter by the back door and smiled as Denny got her wrapped up again. They appear to have bonded at last. At least he'd stopped calling her CarAlarm. "What's wrong with the clinic?" he asked and Den leapt six inches, just preventing a fold-down to the floor by grabbing the side of the counter.

"JAN! God! Startlement!"

"Sorry. I thought you might have heard me making the coffee."

"Well I didn't! Bloody ninjas are noisier than you!" Denny tipped his head back and took a deep breath, his hand on his chest. "Made me one?"

Jan handed Denny's over, pulling an apologetic face. Scaring the shit out of Denny in the kitchen was something he couldn't seem to stop doing. .

"Forgiven," Denny murmured, swigging gratefully. "However, you might want to observe the sign I've actually had _made_ to enforce my single one addition to the nineteen house rules. And no, darling, you're not finishing your breakfast inside my teeshirt. Pest."

Reasonably assured that this last comment was directed at his daughter rather than him, Jan looked over to the fridge where there was a big red prohibited sign featuring a lion tiptoeing on its back legs. Underneath, 'NO STALKING'. He burst out laughing. "Where do you even get something like that made?"

"Oddsigns limited. Told them I worked at a zoo. Said I was having upright wildlife problems."

"Ok, sorry – I'll try to move more noisily. But - the clinic. Haven't you been taking her?"

"Nope. The women there are a bit prying, shall we say."

Jan raised an eyebrow. "Prying?"

"They're all lovely and friendly for the first five seconds when they think I'm dad, then when they find I'm not, it's all 'What's your relationship to this child? Where are the parents? Where can I find a pack of unintelligent vigilantes to pound you with?' I find it a bit wearying, as you can imagine."

"I can," Jan muttered, and made a mental note to send a stiff email. They'd both taken a great deal of irritating rubbish from people about their 'unconventional domestic arrangement', as the social service's child psychologist had put it: Jan had shut down any improper conversations at work pretty quickly. Denny, being the one to spend all day every day with Carianne, was finding things a bit more difficult.

"I've used their online registry system to send all her growth updates through, but I might actually swing by with her this afternoon. I'm beginning to suspect photophobia, rather than a simple pathological insistence on cosiness."

Jan took Carianne from Denny, popped her up against his shoulder, and she instantly tried to hide in his armpit. He held her in place with his palm and frowned, stroking the back of her neck with the tip of his finger and looking out for scary rashes. "Isn't photophobia one of the symptoms of―"

"Meningitis, yeah, thought of that. Don't worry, she's got none of the other symptoms and it's been going on for a week already, so it won't be that. There's a few potential causes – if it's not just a maddening phase, that is - so I'll just have her checked over."

"Want me to take time out? Join you at the clinic?"

"Nah, you're alright, mate. If there's anything to report back, I'll tell you after the interview. Oh – speaking of which…." Denny flicked a winning beam at him, which Jan instantly recognised as a favour request incoming.

"Ye-es?"

"Got a suit, but can I borrow a shirt? And a tie? And….um… shoes? They only invited me to interview yesterday. Didn't really give me much of a chance to hunt down a local High-and-Mighty to sort my threads out, so to speak."

Jan grinned. "Grab what you need." Then he remembered. "Oh – don't forget that your interview's at the precinct – not at the town hall, ok? It was the only bit of influence I could bring to bear. I explained to them about the nursery drop-off distance."

"Cheers! It's doomsday for you though too, isn't it? With Renard back?"

"Yeah. I have no idea what time doom is going to strike."

"Ah, you'll be fine. You've done a good job while he's been away."

And I've rearranged half the staff, Jan thought, with a pang. He could justify it all, but it was typically something you discussed with your Captain when they returned from leave – not in their absence. But he had to do something about Andersen and Hanna: and definitely had to do something about Nick. At least he wasn't working alone anymore. Jan could only hope, with Renard's muttering about him not returning to work 'too soon' before he left, that he'd understand the need for Nick to be working alongside someone, even if it meant him looking after them, to an extent.

Jan sighed, felt Carianne drop off in his arms and bent down to the cave that they'd built under the kitchen table: her baby-bouncer was concealed in the gloom cast by a long tablecloth. She slipped into it and pulled her legs up. Jan gave her a quick kiss and pulled out. Then a small blue-bodied, red-caped and yellow-belted being appeared in his gaze at thigh-height. "Morning Theo. Toast?"

"I'm not Theo. I'm Superman." Theo put his hands on his hips. "Superman doesn't eat breakfast."

"He flaming does," Denny muttered. "Sit and eat. Remember - no food, no cape."

"Fine. I'll be Indiana Jones."

Just as Theo turned to flounce back upstairs for a costume change, Jan scooped him up and deposited him, struggling almightily, into his booster seat and strapped him in. He gave Denny a swift glance that said, 'got to go, you going to be alright?' and Denny waved him off. "Be good," Jan murmured warningly into Theo's ear, dropped kisses on both his kids, grabbed his hated laptop and went. Just as he was shutting the door, he heard Denny pointing out "Look! How often does superman drop hypoglycaemic from the skies? Never! Why? Cause he eats his flipping breakfast, that's why..."

He headed, chuckling, to his car. Thank God for Denny, or his life would be even more fraught than Nick's. He popped the boot on his Spyder, chucked the laptop in, and started up the engine. Hopefully Nick would've had a decent night's sleep – more than him, at any rate, with his spreadsheet and handover note from hell – and would be in a fit state to deal with Livvy and Warwick. He had a feeling that between them, they'd keep Nick busy. Jan grinned and pulled out. Nick would be fine – so long as he remembered to keep him in the loop as and when his jobs started crossing over. In some ways, he couldn't wait for Renard to come back. Given the massive, unhelpful, managerial gap between them at the moment, it would be easier to back up Nick as Lieutenant than as Captain.


	4. Prodigal Princes and other Champions

**Hi all, thanks for the wonderful reviews! As you've guessed, this is not going to be the shortie I originally advertised. So I'm going to quit estimating how long this is going to be until I know I'm a lot closer to the end, lol. **

**I'd just like to say a quick acknowledgement and word of thanks to General Zargon, who some weeks ago threw me a plot bunny holding a sign up saying 'Geier emo, supersmart', then told me to 'go write'. I'm doing my best!**

**The canon characters start coming back in again slowly, and haven't been abandoned or forgotten. Just need to find my feet with my pacing a bit. Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy! **

**X x X**

Sean had arranged things pretty tightly: there were only twenty minutes between him bidding his brother a typically terse farewell in his limousine and the arrival of Jan's old Interpol boss in the pre-departure lounge at Lyon airport. Renard looked up from his armchair and paper and saw Commandant Remus van Maarten weaving his way through the crowds towards him. Sean stood, gave Remus a brief handshake, and jerked his head towards the security gates at the far end of the tier. "Thanks for meeting me. Let's walk and talk."

"What time's your flight?"

"In two hours."

"Then let's not! Let's sit down like normal people and have a drink."

"I'm busy, Remus."

"So am I, so I resent being dragged across French countryside only to be melodramatically frogmarched across airport concourses! What is this? An episode of NCIS?"

Remus strolled off to the bar, leaving Sean to reclaim his armchair in the quiet corner irritably. After a few weeks of intermittent calls and emails with Remus, he ought to be used to the Jagerbar's complete lack of deference by now, but it still smarted. His mood was slightly improved when Remus walked over with a huge and heavy glass of fruit beer, with which he toasted their health as soon as they sat. "Proost!"

"It's seven in the morning," Sean protested.

"You will need sleep on the plane. This will help."

"Cheers," Sean replied, and drank. It wasn't too sweet: Blackcurrant flavoured, deeply alcoholic and very soothing. "It is very convenient that you were in the area. I was going to come to Utrecht to see you."

"Were you? I've kept a sharp eye on my calendar, Sean, and not noticed any meeting requests. Were you planning to 'drop by'? Anyway - I've been in St Etienne. Large packs of non-migratory Reinigen playing havoc in a tourist area…in a town where the Chief of Police is a Lowen – not a good combination. It was a diplomacy mission, before the Gendarmerie executed its no-vagrancy policy. Literally."

Sean smiled in spite of himself. It was only recently that he'd found that Commandant van Maarten was a reigning figure in the European Laufer as well as the Interpol Head of Intelligence. And he thought _his_ life was complicated. "Resolved?"

"I can only hope. Anyway, how are you? Stayed long enough with your brother to see which way the wind is blowing?"

Sean nodded. "The landscape is becoming unpleasantly clear."

He turned his glass of Kriek idly on its mat. Negotiations with Eric to return to France as part of the family had proved fruitless – as he'd expected – but the more he realised that he'd been physically relieved to leave the presence of the rest of his family, the more he understood that he'd only gone to Lyon to confirm what he already knew – that he no longer had any plans to be part of Eric's world, whether on his own terms or his brother's. Deep down, he'd known that he needed to step back, permanently, from the French Royals since the first night that Theo Vergeer had toddled into the precinct, taken over his office, sprinkled crumbs all over his desk, and acted as if they'd been friends for years.

In between painful, euphemistic discussions all week, he'd taken a hidden back seat at a couple of Eric's audiences with the French Verrat: while Eric imperiously granted permission for this or that person to be 'removed from circulation', he evidently interpreted the sideways looks shared between the Verrat members as glances exchanged between relieved men winning permission from a Royal to eradicate difficulties. Renard saw the flicked stares of recognition between practiced conspirators, sharing a look of triumph as they pushed yet another part of a private agenda past a member of one of the Royal families. Eric had insisted that they needed the Verrat to gain a proper political foothold over the wesen and human worlds in fifteen years: Sean had maintained, silently, that if they solely depended on the Verrat for this, then the world would be a wesen republic in twenty. The thought made him shudder, and he downed a good few mouthfuls of Kriek in a row.

"Annual leave spent with family usually isn't restful, but it seems that you had a rather extreme dose."

"You could say that."

Remus seemed to recognise a man who was not going to expand on a theme when he saw one. "Presumably you received the confirmation you requested – regarding the Vergeers' Royal genaeology?"

"Yes," Sean said tersely. The proof of Jan's aristocratically superior status as an eighth-family Royal had arrived three days since, encrypted, and definitely classed as what Griffin called an MRD – a mood-ruining document. The fact stuck harshly in Sean's throat, the insecurity, envy and damaged pride combining to reassure him that his inner Hexenbiest was still alive, if not well. His Hexen half had gone crawling into hiding the night he'd taken Elizabeth Schade's potion, and had barely made itself visible since, in appearance or thought. "It seems that I am line-managing a Grimm, and a… King. It has not been my year, personnel-wise."

"That is a matter of perspective. Have the correct relationship with them and you are the most powerful mentor in the world. Keep things furtive and underhand, and you are heading straight for a stress heart-attack."

"Speaking of furtive and underhand, you told me that you'd got a hit on Miller's photo."

Remus nodded briskly. "He has appeared on our radar, but he's clean."

"Why does a 'clean' man have an Interpol file?"

The Jagerbar commandant leant across the table and spoke quietly. "This is where my worlds collide. In my official capacity, I can tell you that he is a 'person of interest' to the Metropolitan Police, having disappeared following the death of two school governors in 2010. He was working there as Head of Year. As a Laufer commandant – I can tell you that he killed two particularly insidious members of the London Verrat and that he acted under extreme provocation. A great deal of his blood was left at the scene. Under his former name, he is flagged as missing, presumed dead. I do not intend to pursue him. I recommend, if you wish to make use of our ongoing information exchange, that you do not, either."

Sean glared. "What makes you so sure of him?"

Remus looked exasperated. "Miller is friends with the Grimm, yes? Would this be possible if he had such terrible things on his conscience? He threw himself between Theo and an oncoming car – if that's not a hint of a protective nature, you are a hard man to please. What's your interest in him, anyway?"

Sean ground his teeth. "You were the one that persuaded me to pledge allegiance to the eighth family. I'm doing that. Miller is a Siegbarste – and he has moved in with them. Have you seen an angry Siegbarste? Like loyal family pets, they can still snap suddenly and violently. You cannot ask me to protect Theo and Jan, and then sneer at me for looking into those that they are close to."

"Ok." Remus booted up his tablet computer, ran de-cryption, and handed it to Renard. "You read, I will get more drink."

There were two photos on the tablet screen: same man, different names. Denny Miller's picture, on the left, was of a tired-looking scruffy dark-blonde giant in his late thirties with a four-day beard, clutching a drink outside a café, leather-jacketed, wearing a teeshirt, ripped jeans and baby-pouch with tiny pink limbs drooping out of it. The picture on the right showed him a good decade younger and in Royal Marines dress uniform, built on similar scale to Jan, clean-shaven and sharper in the face with a blue-eyed glare that almost seemed to cut into the camera lens. The name underneath was "Captain James D. Grey," and the hard-bastard expression on Grey's face just said 'Siegbarste' to him.

"If you're interested," Remus said, returning with more Kriek, "The D is for Dennis. He has always been 'Denny' to his friends. Siegbarstes, Gemischt or Puur, are not good liars – they like to keep things simple. He has probably been as truthful as he can to his friends about who he is without compromising anyone's safety."

"Is there any chance that anyone is going to go after him?"

"There is always that chance, but a man has to move on. And with the speed at which he clearly bonded with Jan, I imagine that his Patriarchal aura is having a very steadying effect on Grey – Miller, whatever he wants to call himself. Jan could not have picked a better champion. Smart, loyal, and tough."

On a logical level, Sean knew that Jan had no idea of his pedigree, had no conscious awareness of having 'chosen' a Champion to watch his back, and probably had no idea what a Champion was. He also knew, on that same logical platform, that Miller probably had no more clue than Jan that he'd been signed up as a Royal Bodyguard. But the emotional part of him continued to bridle at being so manifestly outranked by his own Lieutenant in every way except their working positions, and still couldn't believe that he'd allowed himself to be co-opted into the service of a Royal from another family, who apparently needed a babysitter to survive. Voicing this opinion brought about the only loss of temper he'd ever seen in Remus, who woged briefly but furiously, snatching the Kriek out of his hands.

"Tell me something, Renard. When you travel as a Royal, do you reserve an extra parking space for your ego?"

Sean stared his 'ally' down. "Say that again, and die."

"Let me give you a little perspective about Patriarchs. You came to Lyon as a Royal, correct? And even on non-police business, how many people were involved in you getting here? You paid or obliged someone to take photos of Miller for me to check out. You had a driver bring you here. You had someone book your hotels for you. You had someone kill the Mordstier following you around Paris. Yes - I know about that. I count at least four people at your service so far, not including the slaves you and Eric had running around in Lyons.

"Jan has _one_ protector and helper, _one_ Champion. Everything else he achieves, it is done himself or because he has asked that it is done. He is a Patriarch. He does not need to command people, they will simply see why a thing needs to be done. I don't care how bruised your ego is. If you want to use the disparaging phrase 'babysitter' again, you do not do so in mypresence. Do you understand?"

Sean did, not that he was about to admit it. And there was a secondary bone of contention. At least Miller/Grey's King was an adult. They could argue. Bicker. Debate – and Miller could probably more than hold his own in a fist-fight, if it came to that, even with a Koninglowen.

_His_ King…. Sean sighed, knowing full well that what he was suffering was a degree of Champion-envy. His King was three years old, had the emotions of a three-year-old (if the intelligence of a child far older), and was dangerously persuasive. And he knew he'd been selected as Theo's Champion from the embarrassing moment he found himself wearing a thermal long-sleeved teeshirt with 'evasive dude' on it for the boy's school sports day.

Remus handed back his beer with a conciliatory smile. "Look on the bright side – there are good things to come from managing a Patriarch. When you get back – all the tiny things that have sat on your to-do list for two years will be gone. Think of the weight off your shoulders!"

"Hmmm."

"When are you due back to work?"

"Today," Sean muttered, and pinged off a quick email to Jan to explain that he would drop by in the evening, but wouldn't return to the office until tomorrow. He couldn't help seeing, having sent the brief missive, that he'd been sent a huge 84kb Word file called 'handover note.' He stared in horror. What kind of 'note' was 24 pages long? He looked desperately at Remus. "Did Jan always write you a novel to read on your return from leave?"

"Unfailingly. But no-one's perfect. He's strong, competent, thorough and a safe pair of hands. Succinct? No!" Remus laughed, finished his drink, and stood. "Don't worry. If any report's over 10 pages, he always uses an executive summary and index."

**X x X**

It appeared that Warwick hadn't slept much better than Nick: having done a very good impression of an unconscious teenager when Nick had stopped off at the couch with blankets the previous night, he was now doing another very good impression of an unconscious teenager in the back of the car, his mouth open, hair in his face, and completely impervious to the tinny dirge-like din pounding out of his nanopod speakers. After a couple of minutes of this racket, Livvy scored fifty instant popularity points with Nick by reaching back, snatching the pod-wires and snapping the ipod off before the noise could drive them both criminally insane.

"Thanks," Nick muttered, and in the brief fifteen minutes of quiet they had before they reached the precinct, filled her in as much as possible about the background to the nightmare that Warwick had laid out to him the previous evening. Naturally he left out all things wesen, but covered the key 'cop' points that she would need to work with by explaining the pressure that he and his family had been under to come up with medical advances because of their attachment to a powerful, well-funded and private group of people. He also explained the link between the supposed hazing and the group that the Presleys had become associated with. Livvy muttered, nodded and murmured throughout, and at one point took her notepad out and appeared to jot a few things down, but did little to break Nick's flow of explanation.

"You ok?" he asked eventually.

"What, apart from wanting to change my name, move to a different country and bury my head in embarrassment? Yeah, I'm just peachy!"

He winced inwardly. He thought she'd actually dealt with a faceful of raw Grimm pheromones extremely professionally under the circumstances, but a reassurance along the lines of 'it's not your fault you could barely resist me' was more likely to earn him a smack round the face or a boot in the parts than anything else. He chose his words carefully. "It was… a weird start for both of us."

"Ok Nick, pull over."

"Huh?"

"You heard! Find a safe place and stop. We need to get this horrible conversation held and concluded before we get to the precinct."

Oh boy. Nick negotiated the Southlands Ring road and headed into a residential area on the far side, parking up under the shadow of a vast oak. He barely had the handbrake on when Livvy undid her belt, whipped round in her seat and stared at him so penetratingly that it nearly made his eyes water.

"Right – there's only three reasonable explanations for why you're being so zen about this morning's behaviour. Two of them don't pan out, and I don't like the third. First option – you're on some kind of amnesia-inducing psychotropic drug. That theory doesn't wash because you've driven us here without a wobble. Second theory is that you're so full of yourself that you _expect_ women to have difficulty in keeping their hands off you first thing in the morning. That doesn't wash either, because you're not a walking dick."

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? "Uh… good?"

"No! Not good! Because the remaining explanation is that you're not surprised about getting weird shit from me because I've got some kind of reputation. So – spill. What have you heard?"

Nick chose his words really carefully. Her light-brown gaze made him feel like all his thoughts were open and available for her to look at on Polaroid shots floating around the inside of the car. Ok, so she came over a little nutsy, sometimes, but he was beginning to understand her outstanding interrogation record. "Ok… not much, actually. You've been in and out of the precinct the last six months so I've got to know you a little, but all I've really heard or observed is that… you tend to wear your heart on your sleeve."

She rolled her eyes. "That's a Jan-line, isn't it?"

"Yes." No point in denying it. It was pretty much lifted from Jan's list of polite ways to tell people to shut the hell up occasionally.

"Fine – go for diplomacy, Nick. I appreciate the thought, I really do. But I'd like to point out that this morning was _not_ me. There is the world of difference between wearing your heart on your sleeve and a condom on your wrist, which is pretty much what I was doing while directing your change of wardrobe. Anyway – can we start again?" She stuck her hand out smartly. "Livvy Andersen, rookie detective, not fond of awkward silences."

Nick grinned and shook. "Nick Burkhardt, supposed mentor, scared shitless of very direct conversations."

She buckled up again, just as Warwick was stirring in the back seat. "Cool. Ok – let's get to the precinct and hide this one in interrogation 2- it's got a two-way lock and spare key, so he won't be seen by any passing frat-boys. Actually – I'll do that, go see his parents, then finish the interrogations. You can go talk to Jan, then find out what lovely list of light-duties he's left you with for the day."

This unfair division of labour didn't sit well with him. "You going to be ok with his folks? You did mention that they were … hard work. I can come with you, if you like."

"You're sweet, but I've dealt with scarier vultures than them."

Nick stared over and pretty much at the same time, Warwick pinged bolt upright in the back seat. "What did you say?"

"No offence, Warwick, but your folks don't know how to stay still. They must have done sixty laps of the front room circling me last night while I was waiting for certain _slack_ mentors to call me back. No offence, Nick."

"None taken." He had that coming. They got to the precinct in another couple of minutes and he parked underground, making them stay in the vehicle until he'd checked that the basement carpark was empty. "Ok – trot on up."

Livvy and Warwick got in the lift and pushed up, but just as Nick stepped in to join them, he felt the hairs on the back of his arms rise. _Go_, he mouthed, and stepped back, glad that the lift cast shadow over them. He did a quick run-round of the exits, gun out, still convinced he could feel another presence. It had happened to him more and more recently – this awareness when he wasn't alone. He'd always had a sense, but since cracking his head, the sense had become a certainty. Another part of his Grimm evolution, or the manifestation of brain injury? He didn't know and no longer cared – it was useful. He hung onto that. There was no evidence of anyone else in the carpark, but he knew they'd been there. Cautiously, he followed Livvy and Warwick up the stairs. They needed to get Warwick into seclusion as quickly as possible.

Nick got to the top and found Livvy withdrawing from interrogation 2. She jerked her head meaningfully in the direction of Jan's office. "Go on. Be brave."

He grimaced. "He's going to yell at me."

Livvy scoffed. "Of course he's not. Jan doesn't yell - unless you're a printer or a fax machine, in which he'll tear sixty strips off you and kick you across the carpark. No, he'll just rake his hand through his hair, give you that long, sad and compassionate look, and then say 'Nick, can I remind you about the safe-house protocols for these situations?'"

She was right, of course. On balance, Nick would prefer it if Jan would just yell at him.

**X x X**

"Morning, Nick," Jan said pleasantly, before his knuckles made contact with the office door. "Come in."

Nick put a latte on Jan's desk, hopefully. "Morning. Can I have a word? The situation with Presley has become… complicated."

Jan sat back in his seat, eyeing the Latte suspiciously. "Is this a G-conversation that we need to have on the roof?"

Nick nodded and Jan got up readily enough to follow him to the rear firedoors.

"I take it from the bribing-coffee that you're softening me up for something."

Nick took a deep breath, waited for them to clear the building and perch on the ledge around the outside of the roof. Then he filled Jan in. Jan sipped from his drink from time to time, nodding understandingly, then finally put it down and sighed heavily. Then raked his hands through his hair.

" 'Complicated' sounds like quite the understatement, to me. Fine, I'll get alternative accommodation and security arranged straightaway. But Nick, I do need to remind you that we have safe-house protocols in place for this kind of situat―"

"Agh!"

Jan folded his arms. "Excuse me, Nick?"

"Would you just yell at me and be done with it? Stop it with the nice-boss! I forgot the protocol, I know I got suckered, I know it wasn't wise―"

"Yell at you? Jesus Christ, Nick, I'm _this_ close to dangling you off the roof by your hair. Why not put a big arrowed sign up at the end of your road – 'Absent-minded Grimm lives here?' Warwick is being hunted! Staying there was an endangerment to you, to Warwick, to Livvy…"

"Alright, alright!" Nick blew air out and paced. There was nothing more infuriating than knowing that, as maddening as Jan's mother-hen approach could be, he was responding as a boss in this situation, and a very good one, at that. "I couldn't kick him out, then he was sick, then the conversation got heavy. What was I supposed to do?"

"CALL ME."

"At gone midnight?"

"At any time, Nick." Jan picked up the remainder of his coffee and walked back to the roof door. "I know you think I treat you with kid gloves sometimes, but look at it this way. You can't help being a Grimm. But you want to be a cop, right?"

Nick met his eyes uncertainly. "Yeah…"

"Well, I'm trying to help you _continue_ to be a cop, because your Grimm has a talent for getting in the way. _I'm_ protecting your career. The day you decide you don't want to be a cop, I'll still be there, but you'll see me back off ten paces to do other things. You're not the only detective on my watch, Nick."

Nick watched Jan trot easily down the fire escape stairs, looking as relaxed as ever except for the rather irate set of his shoulders. He really wished Jan would just yell at him. Especially when he was right. He followed down the stairs, checked in on Warwick, who was surrounded by books in his secure room, then stopped outside Gerry Hanna's interrogation of a skalengek on a completely different case. The guy had woged at being asked if he was carrying on any extra-marital relations that Hanna ought to know about.

"Utter frog," Livvy commented suddenly, alongside him.

Nick blinked. A curious observation – he was seeing a Lizard, not a frog, but her instincts were clearly on point. "What makes you say that?"

"Tan-line on the finger – removed wedding ring on the morning he's picked up from a hotel. Also, he's changed the name of the hotel he stayed at twice in five minutes. I've walked past twice. The guy had a busy night. How did it go with Jan?"

Nick winced. He'd need to break the awkward silence with his friend at some point. "It could've gone smoother."

"No yelling?"

"None."

She patted his arm sympathetically. "This, too will pass. I saw Warwick's parents and offered them protective custody, alongside but not actually with their son. They played dumb – fine, let's see how long they keep that up. I left them my card." She glanced over to the hallway where the first of the sulking lowen were making their way in for 'interview'. "Ok – the frat guys are coming in now – got to get going. Catch up later?"

"Sure." Nick smiled as she herded the frat boys into their darkest, least comfortable room and separated one of the most nervous-looking. She knew what she was doing. And he actually looked forward to their catch-up later. He strode over to his desk and unlocked her notes from his cabinet. There were about seven pages of supposed alibi notes. It would be a long day of calling.

**X x X**

Denny pounded up the back stairs of the precinct, holding Carianne still from being jogged around against his shoulder with one hand, and gripping the handle of her car-seat with the other. Thanks to the non-clock-owning witches at the clinic, he'd barely had time to get home to get his smarts on before the interview, and hadn't even got anywhere at the clinic itself. Having kept him waiting an hour and a half, they then chose to call his name in the two minutes he'd disappeared to the baby-change room to relieve himself. And then told him he'd have to start queueing again. Bloody women.

He slowed down to a more professional, unhurried pace on entering the second floor and was intercepted almost immediately by the young lady that had called him earlier to confirm his interview slot. They were running twenty minutes late. Would he mind taking a seat? He didn't – he could do with the breather and the chance to build his confidence back up before being grilled about his past experience. Thankfully, Nick was at his desk, accompanied by some pasty, long-haired goth, ready and waiting with the overhead lights dimmed and the sling on under his jacket. Nick's new partner, who Denny had met in passing a few times before, was getting coffee and looking knackered. Nick gave a friendly wave as Denny approached and looked around in confusion for the missing little dude.

"No Theo?"

Denny smiled awkwardly, keeping half an eye on Jan's door. Jan was talking into his mobile quietly – a private call then, and face-palming. "Uh… he's having tea with Matty. After this morning, Bud offered to buy me some time to talk to Jan before…"

"What happened this morning?"

Denny huffed. He might as well practice his side of the story on Nick. "Ok, look – I lost my cool. You remember that total tosswipe of a Bison that mocked you at the kiddies' sports day?"

Nick winced. "Yep."

"Well his kid Tristan's a bit of git too, I'm sorry to say. He turned up dressed as Batman but in a very un-Batman-like fashion, started picking on Jacob. You _know_ how fragile Jacob is. Anyway, Theo – as Superman – intervened. Then they got into a punch-up. I separated them and had a few choice things to say to Batman, right? None of them coarse, I promise. Anyway, Batman's dad didn't particularly appreciate my intervention and got a bit nasty. So I said 'pas devant les enfants', just meaning – let's discuss this somewhere else. It wasn't like I was challenging him to a duel, or something."

"And things went…downhill?"

Jan caught his eye through the window and waved him in. Denny faked a cheerful, oblivious wave back while he was still on the phone. He did not want this discussion before his interview.

"Uh… things got a bit energetic, Nick. There's nothing like a bunch of toddlers cheering you on going 'Den-ny! Den-ny!' to make you realise you're not setting the best possible example, but hell – the bloke swung first and he… pressed all the wrong buttons."

Nick reached out for Carianne while he grappled with the shoulder strap holding her under his suit. "So you didn't start it. Did you finish it?"

"Would've done, but no. We got separated by Thor's mum."

Nick snorted as he took Carianne, and apart from a brief transitional squeak of protest, she settled happily into his jacket. "Never mess with a woman who has time to make a mini-Mjolnir."

"Well, quite." Denny probed a sore spot on his forehead gingerly. Hopefully it wouldn't show in interview.

Finally, the goth-thing spoke. "Is she ok?"

"Thor's Mum?"

"No, the baby. She's pulling her legs up a bit."

Observant – Denny was impressed. "Been doing that all week. Tried to take her to clinic today, but it didn't really happen. Do you know much about babies?"

"Enough. Can I take a look?"

Nick looked up at him as if to ask permission as Livvy wandered over. Denny nodded, and Nick passed Carianne from the gloom of his jacket to inside the kid's trench coat.

Livvy frowned. "Is it National hide-the-baby day, or something?"

Denny grinned in spite of his worry. "She's not good at the light at the moment."

The kid looked up. "And she's a bit crampy. Has she been taking any anti-bloat or cardiac medication?"

"Lasix."

"Ah – furosemide. It can, in combination with other complications, cause stomach upset and photophobia. Just ask the doc to prescribe something with a different diuretic agent, and she'll be fine."

The weight off Denny's shoulders was huge. "Cheers mate – that's good to know. It's been worrying me today. How do you know all this?"

"I'm a doctor, on paper."

Denny stared in astonishment. The furthest he'd got was an at-home degree completed by the time he was fifteen, but completing medical exams at … not much older… was in a whole different league of intelligent. He was uncomfortably aware of Nick's rookie staring at him intently, like she was trying to place him. He avoided her gaze concertedly.

The goth-kid swung his head miserably. "But I don't expect you to believe me. People never believe teenagers – it's just a genetic thing."

"Well that was a good conversation killer, wasn't it? Do you practice those?" Denny rolled his eyes good-naturedly as the kid passed Carianne back to Nick. "Anyway, thank you – genuinely – for the top tip. Good luck with… whatever you're here for."

"I've got it. I know where I've seen you!"

Denny caught his breath and tried his hand at a casual laugh. "Well, in here probably, nearly daily, dropping the kids off―"

"No, before!" She grinned hugely, clearly delighted with herself for remembering and he half-froze at wondering which bit of his past she was about to drag up. "National Geographic Channel – the Crash of Flight 4354. You were the doomed pilot!"

Oh thank _God!_ Denny burst out laughing through sheer relief. "How the _hell_ do you remember something like that?"

"My flatmate recorded the whole 1997 crash-reenactment series. I think she rewound yours about six times! Something about your increasingly concerned expressions and the stoically gritted teeth turned her to complete mush."

"She does know that story doesn't have a happy ending, right? It's a good job we crashed when we did, anyway. I was running out of concerned expressions." Denny shook his head wonderingly. What an absolutely bizarre thing to be remembered for. He kind of liked her for it. And it was a nice boost before the interview.

The rookie girl stuck her hand out cheerfully, and her grip was firm in his. "I'm Livvy, also a fan."

"Denny."

Nick was smiling, but looking puzzled. "Bit-part acting, Den? How many careers have you had?"

Denny shrugged slightly nervously – there was no getting anything past the Grimm. "Well only two _careers_, Nick – Army, teaching, but jobs? Yeah, hundreds. Had to support my mum somehow."

Then the young lady from the Mayor's office came over to call him for interview and he followed her, relieved. At some point, he'd have to have a fairly frank conversation with the lads about where he'd come from. But not till he was a bit more… settled.


	5. Dodgy Homecoming Kings

**Hi guys – thanks all for the lovely reviews! I'm glad to have the blessing to make this longer than I thought ;) Thanks for that. Right… the plot thickens! Hope you enjoy….**

**X x X**

As Denny marched off for his interview, Nick noticed a good deal of beaming from Livvy – conspicuously in the direction of Denny's departing back. Or backside. He wasn't sure, but she wasn't subtle, either way. He cleared his throat. She carried on beaming. "Liv – you know what you were saying this morning about wearing a condom on your wrist…?"

She snapped out of it. "Sorry. I've got a thing about being loomed over. He's sexy enough grimacing in a cockpit, nice from afar, but close up in person… wow. Anyway. Notes!"

Her abrupt and noisy return to business made Nick jump, and he was forced to shift up his desk a good couple of feet as she pulled a chair over, stuck it next to him, and laid out the contents of her file on his desk. She grabbed the pen out of his hand, helped herself to a sheet of his legal pad, finished his coffee, then in all seriousness set out a relationship diagram on the sheet of paper, summarising the levels of fear, genuine comradeship, and pockets of peer pressure between different pockets of guys in the frat house, talking them through it as she drew. It was a complicated picture, but Nick was amazed at the natural talent she had not just in taking the psychological temperature of a person or group when interviewing them, but also at her ability to be completely succinct and clear about how all these guys related to one another. Everything she said matched up precisely to the vibe he was getting from the alibi talks he'd been working through all day on the phone – in between increasingly annoying calls from Warwick's parents, demanding for him to be sent home.

Every now and again Livvy shot a question at Warwick, or asked him for confirmation of something, and while it was clear that the emo was in a pensive, untalkative mood, he didn't contradict a word of any of the comments she made. Nick exchanged glances with Warwick, who was reviewing her long-hand notes, staring at the squiggles down the sides of the margins and looking alarmed.

"… So, these are the guys we need to target," she concluded, pointing at three names in the bottom corner of the diagram. "They're kind of the group slaves. They were accepted into the frat house because they have a use for the other guys – they're bright, willing to help the senior alleycats cheat for the sake of an easy social ride outside the house, and they're easily frightened. They're also really frightened of upsetting their parents, so either we scare them to death, or smack them firmly round the guilt chops and then let them plea-bargain. They'd have to move college though, obviously."

Nick frowned. He agreed with her reading of the situation, but not necessarily the approach to take. From his general experience, guys peer pressured into staying quiet about something couldn't be guilted into confessing. It usually took fear of a larger threat to do that – a fear of jail time, for example. He had to find a way of muscling in on the interrogations and work out whether it was just the two bigger guys with Verrat parents leaning on Warwick, or whether the Verrat-Junior issue went through the whole frat house.

"Was that…ok?" Livvy asked eventually, looking endearingly worried all of a sudden.

Nick realised he hadn't acknowledged her summary yet. "It's great. Livvy, that's really… comprehensive. I was just thinking about how to take it forward. I've got to say, though… that I don't think guilt's going to do the job. Can I sleep on it? And take this with me?" Nick rustled her diagram. "It might click better in the morning."

"Sure, knock yourself out."

"Um… excuse me?" Warwick said eventually, leaning over with the file and indicating one of the pencilled doodles in the margin. "Just curious – I'm sure these pictures are all part of some sophisticated mental filing system, but why are those balloons wearing shades?"

Nick squinted. There did indeed appear to be a squiggle of three shade-wearing balloons next to the names of the guys who Livvy intended to crack with a guilt assault.

"They're not balloons, they're mice. As in three blind mice. And yeah, it is a sort of mental code." She shrugged her shoulders at Nick. "I'll rub those out before the notes get filed."

"It's not urgent," Nick said. She was worried about being tidy? Hank had mocked him more than once about having a mental code based on the position of coffee rings across his work.

"Cool. Some people react differently to the way I work. I'm glad you're laid back about it." Livvy stretched and stood. "Ok, I'm gonna go get my stuff from my locker. We've got to get Warwick to the safehouse."

As she sauntered off, Warwick shot across to Nick on Hank's wheeled chair and whispered urgently. "The three blind mice are Reinigen! Is she a secret Grimm?"

"She's not a Grimm." Yet. That was the only thing Nick was sure of. Livvy was definitely picking up on something, but definitely wasn't seeing or sensing the same things as him. Apart from the three blind mice, her doodles made no sense to him at all.

"Ok, fine, so she's psychic, or a mentalist, or…something. Either way, the way she's being going on, it's like she's been living like a fly on the wall in the frat house for a few months. It's eerie!"

Nick frowned. "Isn't that a good thing? We're trying to pin these guys down, remember?"

"She said '_We've_' got to get Warwick to the safehouse. _She_ can't stay with us! She's just spooky! What if I woge out of sheer stress like last night?"

Warwick had a point there, but it was academic. While he was on light duties, solo custodial protection was out of the question. He could stay with Warwick to keep him company or get more background information from him, but they would need another officer – uniformed or otherwise – staying with them. It may as well be Livvy.

"Hello? Are you even listening?"

As Warwick waved a hand in front of his face, Nick snapped his palm up and grabbed Warwick's wrist, darting a sharp look across at him. "Do that again, and I'll snap it. Clear?"

"Ow!" the hand was withdrawn, hastily, and Warwick rubbed it melodramatically. "Threatening a minor…"

"Subduing a sulky pest," Nick retorted, but was slightly discomforted by the speed of his own reflex. That was a new thing. "It's partly down to you that I'm this tired, remember?"

"Fine, so I'll endure my crushed forearm silently then, shall I?"

"Please do." Nick put an arm underneath Carianne, still snoozing happily inside his jacket, and stood, trying not to be annoyed about Warwick's assumption that he would stay with him overnight. He would, of course, but the assumption rankled. But anyway, he needed to talk to Jan about the overnight custodial arrangements. There was no way Warwick could be left alone with a protective officer, not in his vulnerable easy-woge condition. "Stay there," he muttered, stepped over Warwick's trip-hazard crutches, and made his way to Jan's office, hopefully for a less fraught conversation than earlier.

**X x X**

Sean reached the basement of the Portland precinct at a little before six, feeling as if he'd been dragged through a black hole upside down and inside out. It wasn't just the combination of the travel time and the clock winding back by nine hours, though that was confusing enough – it was also the shock of being faced by the evidence of what a Patriarch could get done in two weeks, left to his own devices. He'd finished reading the handover novel and was still vaguely in shock. As it turned out, Remus' light comment about Jan's tendency to waffle didn't apply – or didn't seem to apply any more. The whole document was split into sections of work, numbered, clear and concise.

What really startled him was the fact that he no longer needed to worry about the nightmare job of arranging the Mayor's incident room system for public disorder, which he thought would be still hanging over him when he got back from leave. Jan had everything finished. The design, the implementation… and he'd done a despicably good job. Communications and lines of instruction had been divided between Gold, Silver and Bronze commands, heading up strategy, ground tactics and police presence respectively. It was a system borrowed openly from the London Metropolitan Police (why re-invent the wheel?), consulted upon within three days, and all the staffing arrangements, shift patterns and communication lines had been set up – along with the premises split between the Portland precinct and Mayor's office. The only element incomplete was appointment of the commanders for the Gold, Silver and Bronze units, and even here the speed at which Jan had worked was evident from the courtesy email from the Mayor's office, letting him know who they were interviewing for each post. Miller was on the Silver Commander list, he noted – a good choice, if they picked him. He was an intimidating presence. He couldn't imagine any rioters trying to mess with him while he was directing emergency services across a scene.

Sean flipped to the back page of 'other bits'. Jan had even managed to get the ceiling of the squadroom re-painted. Jesus. Just about the only thing missing from the handover note was Jan's proposal for the ending of the violence along the Gaza strip, but then, Sean decided charitably, he had only been Captain for _two_ weeks.

A very tiny part of him, badly outnumbered and bullied by the rest of him, felt slightly bad about having sneered at a Patriarch's legendary tendency to be accompanied by a Champion – an automatic right that didn't appear to be enjoyed or needed by any other member of any of the other Royal families. Remus' burst of annoyance and aspersions on his ego had gotten under his skin to the point that, when Sean was picked up at Washington airport, he mentally added his terrified and deferential Maushertz driver to the list of people who'd flitted around him these last weeks, doing his bidding. And Jan just had Denny Miller. And Nick, of course, as back-up.

Sean stretched inside the back of the BMW, trying to get some feeling back into his arms and legs so that he could stride back upstairs instead of creaking in like an ancient traveller. He zipped the window down to get a quick breather of the cold, diesel-scented underground air in his face to wake up a little, then heard Miller's unmistakeably strident London voice from across the other side of the carpark. He zipped the window down fully, but leant back in his seat, watching Miller leap out of an SUV, zip round the trunk, and pull a babyseat out of the front.

"… yeah, all right, all _right!_ God, you are _bossy!_" Miller flicked a quick look at his wrist. "Fine, quick hug first, then. Really quick, 'cause I've got things to do. Got people to see, jobs to get, songs to sing, blah blah blah…"

Sean watched with interest then growing intrigue as Miller stripped his jacket off and tossed it on the roof of his car, then picked the baby up and bobbed her up and down for a few moments, her face stuffed firmly into his chest, before strapping her into a shoulder harness and slipping his jacket back on.

"Right, is that better? Not feeling quite so much like the world's about to end, now? Good. Bloody hell madam, the noise you make when things don't go to your liking…Dear me." Miller ruffled baby's hair. "Oh – by the way, love you dearly, but if you dribble on my shirt before my interview, no rusks for a week. Got that? None. Even _princesses_ need boundaries…"

Something occurred to Sean as Miller locked up, picked up the babyseat and raced for the fire stairs. He dialled Remus's number. Neither of them had discussed the baby. They both knew that Jan and Theo were Patriarchs, both Royals… but what of the infant?

The phone rang five times and then a sleepy but irritable voice broke into the dialling tone. "Sean, if this isn't urgent, I'm going to kick you across five continents. _It's three in the fucking morning!_"

"Is there such thing as a Matriarch?"

"Wrong way to begin the conversation, Sean. First you begin with 'I'm sorry for calling at such an unreasonable hour―"

"Sorry, etcetera, is there such thing as a Matriarch?"

"Not that we know of," Remus muttered. "Not impossible, of course, because history is written by select groups of people who only talk about Patriarchs. How is this urgent?"

"Miller just called her 'Princess'. I'm wondering how much he really knows."

"You woke me up for this? Sean – are you jet lagged? Think about where he's from! He probably calls all girls under legal age 'princess'."

Sean felt vaguely embarrassed. It had seemed a lot more significant, a moment ago. Remus possibly had a point about the jet-lag. "He was talking to her like they were having a conversation, like she was commanding him. Can a Champion be shared across a family?"

There was a long sigh and a pause at the other end of the line.

"Remus?"

"You haven't looked after small children, have you, Sean?"

"No."

"I think you'll find that lengthy one-way conversations with tiny people is a simple means of staying sane. You need an adult voice when all they do is babble, eat and soak you, even if that adult voice is your own. Miller-Grey was a black operations soldier, Sean. This is probably a very strange change of scenery for him. Now, stop finding rhinos in shadows and let me go back to sleep."

"Agreed," Sean snapped, "I'm reading too much into the infant. I would still like to know more about whether a champion could be shared. Because if Miller could be both Jan _and_ Theo's champion, instead of me―"

He was cut off by a wild bark of unflattering laughter from the other end of the line. "I wondered when you were going to come clean!"

"Fine, so I'm Theo's champion! I was conscripted. There, it's out. But I think… I would be more useful when he's older. If Miller can take care of things until he's a little more… grown-up."

Remus was still snickering. "You really, really don't want to babysit, do you?"

"Frankly, no. I will be there for him, but I have no plans to become 'Uncle Sean' – not if there is a family protector in place. There are still things I need to achieve in Portland before I throw myself over to your side of the bridge."

Like deal with the Verrat. They were hopelessly disorganised in the States – not like the European or English factions at all, where high places in government had long since been claimed – but they needed bringing to heel nonetheless. Their increasing arrogance made them conspicuous, acting as if they were some wesen form of the Masons, bribing, conspiring, and carrying out their own justice. They were only fractionally more disorganised than the Portland Laufer, which, under the direction of Dr Maier, had to be the least discreet resistance service on the planet.

The last thing Sean needed was an open soft spot for a child who could quite easily be abducted as leverage against him while out of the protective watch of Jan and Denny.

Remus' voice was a little softer. "You have changed your tone about Miller."

"I've seen him with the infant. I'm more assured that he is becoming a different man. If so, he's useful."

"So support him, then. Tell him you know about his past. Let him know that at some point, he will no longer need to fear the Verrat."

Sean frowned. "That will be a difficult conversation. A little out of the blue."

"It shouldn't be that difficult. Take the road of being mutually mixed-wesen. He knows that you know he's half-Siegbarste, yes? You said he stress-woged after getting Jan and Nick on the med-evac copter after the Tennant's bar riot…. right?"

"But he didn't see me… seeing him."

"So Miller doesn't know about you, either?"

"No."

"Does Jan know about you?"

"No."

Remus was sounding steadily agitated. "Does Jan even know that _you_ know about him being a Koninglowen?"

Sean went slightly hot. "No."

"Godverdomme, this is the ridiculous kind of conversation I usually have with MI5! Does anyone know anything at all over there?"

Sean sighed. "Jan is best friends with the Grimm and I've been withholding my Hexenbiest from the Grimm, so…"

"Not even the _Grimm_ knows you're a Hexenbiest?"

"_Half_ Hexenbiest," Sean snapped. "I haven't revealed myself to him yet. There have been trust…issues."

There was a soft thumping sound from the other end of the line. Sean imagined that Remus was probably banging his head against something. Presently, he came back on the line.

"Sean, are you in training for some kind of high blood pressure competition?"

"I have my own reasons for keeping my secrets."

"I hope they're good reasons. But can I recommend a policy of being slightly more open? Perhaps merely begin by confronting Jan with his Koninglowen status? He's very steady. Perhaps he can help you with the trust issues with your Grimm."

"How long did Jan work for you before you disclosed yourself as Jagerbar?"

"About six hours. It was not voluntary. I shifted after putting my elbow through a window by accident. Thank God for big hands and strong grips – my carpet was ruined, but I held onto most of my blood, thanks to him. Anyway, think about it. Jan's a good listener."

"I'll think about it." Sean meant it. It was the only exit point he could see from the secretive web he was caught in.

"You do that, my friend. Now piss off and let me go to sleep."

Sean actually grinned as Remus hung up. Something was happening to him – that kind of flippancy would've had his Hexenbiest raging to the surface, before. Perhaps it was just the relief of having one person in his life with whom he could have an honest conversation. Or perhaps it was the growing realisation that he did actually… have a friend. Not an attractive tool like Adalind, not a compatriot, not an ally of convenience, but a friend. Now that he had one, he wanted more - his human was definitely taking over.

He decided to just sit and mull on this, while reading back over Jan's rationale for the change in detective teams. There was supposed to be an unspoken understanding that only the Captain would rearrange the pairings, but then… there was something to be said for having someone beneath you that would take delegation seriously and assume all responsibilities – not just some of them. His only anxiety about any of Jan's changes was the partnering of the Grimm and the nutcase Andersen, even if it was only temporary.

He wanted to disclose himself to Nick in his own time, but couldn't help but feel that between his evolving Grimmstincts and her eerie vibe-reading, he was in serious danger of losing the advantage of choosing his own moment.

**X x X**

Nick rapped on Jan's door to get the safe house keys and location card and was directed with a waving finger to shut door and sit down while Jan wearily wound up a private conversation with his nursery manager, Sally. His feet were up on the desk, his tie loosened, and his spare hand now raking slightly madly through his hair. Nick removed Carianne from the sling inside his jacket and gave her a shoulder-facing cuddle to silently remind Jan that he was still holding his daughter, while working, supposedly. She munched his shirt absently.

"... Be that as it may, Sally, I have absolutely no reason at all to believe that Denny subjected Mr Barnes to an unprovoked attack.. Because it's completely out of character. And - Sorry Sally, I realise you're under pressure, but can I finish? Thank you. And Mrs Arnheim has been in touch...yes, that's right… her son's the one going through the 'Thor' phase. She saw exactly what happened and she called me on my direct line at the precinct to make a third party claim of assault _against_ Denny, so perhaps if you arrange to meet her in the morning..? Yes, I'd be grateful. Thank you kindly... Yes, bye now.. Bye... BYE."

Nick waited quietly for Jan to rub a bit of wakefulness back into his face and flatten his hair back down and eventually got something in the region of a rueful smile.

"I've got to be firmer about hanging up on people, Nick. She's assertive, for an Eisbiber. Anyway, I suppose you're here for the safehouse keys?"

"Please." Nick looked round at the Captainless office. "No Renard yet?"

"He let me know that he might drop in this evening to synchronise his inboxes for a brisk start tomorrow," Jan barked hoarsely, rummaging in the Cabinet by his desk, "But not as yet, no. Presumably you know that you can't stay with Warwick alone tonight?"

Nick blinked. Terse Jan was a new phenomenon for him. He glanced over at the clock – twenty to seven – and slipped into informal mode. "Of course – Livvy's coming with us. You ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." Jan took Carianne as Nick passed her over and jiggled her over his shoulder, making her largely invisible by putting one hand across her back, and the other over her nappy and folded legs. She babbled contentedly at him, making him grin and relax visibly. "No, dribble on _that_ bit of my shirt, darling. You ruined that bit already – good girl. Sorry, I've been tetchy. I'm mourning the three hours of sleeping time lost when I could've finished off the handover today, instead. Anyway, moving on, here's the card and keys. Remember how the card works?"

Nick nodded. Put code into departmental satnav, follow directions.

"And if you run into any difficulties, just place a call to my phone, I'll log in with my details, enter the override code for your location and come find you."

"Warwick's a little worried about wogeing in front of Livvy."

"I can understand that," Jan said mildly. "But under the circumstances, I'm afraid, that Warwick is simply going to have to suck it up, or lock himself in the bathroom. Andersen is your best option right now."

Nick grinned, took the card and went to pick up the others. "She's… unusual, Jan. She sees things a bit differently from everyone else."

"Ha! That sounds quite funny, coming from a Grimm. Try to chill out a little, tonight, if you can. Get to know her a bit. Nick, if Denny's finished with his interview, could you send him my way? I just want a bit of a chat with him before we get home."

Nick nodded, knowing full well when he was being dismissed, and not particularly wanting to get into the middle of a domestic. He had questions – but they'd have to wait till tomorrow. He rejoined Livvy outside, who'd just finished a quiet discussion with Gerry Hanna, which – surprisingly – ended with a reasonably cordial handshake. Gerry marched past him into Jan's room, looking happier than he had done for months. Nick stared through Jan's window, where Jan remained sitting, holding his daughter, trying to wind down. The guy was even buoyant enough to ruffle Carianne's hair with his fingers while they chatted.

"There's a happy giant," Warwick murmured. "He was slouching around with a face like thunder most of the rest of the day. He's actually pretty big when he stands up straight."

"So are you," Nick pointed out.

"Gerry's moving post," Livvy explained. "He'll be based in the Mayor's office. Apparently he's the new incident control Gold Commander. It'll be good for him, I think. He needs a change of scenery."

Nick was surprised by her good natured response to his departure. Given the way she'd been treated, he thought she'd be flipping the bird at his back and punching the air with celebration. He was about to ask what had changed when the familiar voice of Captain Renard greeted him and Livvy good evening, and he joined Hanna and Jan in the office, waving Jan back down as he automatically rose to vacate the Captain's seat.

Denny then burst from the corridor into the squadroom with a "_Yeeeeeesss!_", sliding on his knees and doing a mock goal celebration.

Nick chuckled. "Successful, then?"

Denny got to his feet and marched over, hands in pockets and beaming down at them. "Silver Commander! Effective immediately in practice, paid on retainer, required only on incident after initial training – _and_ I get the civilian-staff uniform!"

"The sexy black one?" Livvy spluttered, and pinkened immediately as Denny winked at her.

"Yep – the very same. It's going to be doomed-pilot all over again on the dress code front, except without the crashing planes, thank God. Anyway – to the tailor's tomorrow! Right, got to go tell Jan. We've got babysitting rotas to rejig."

As Denny bounded past them and into Jan's office, Nick noticed that slightly soppy expression slipping back onto Livvy's face and gave her a discreet poke with his elbow. She poked him back, but gave him a flicker of a grateful wink as she straightened her expression a little.

Warwick gaped as Jan stood, towered over them all and shook Denny's hand from halfway across the office. "Are they having a tallness tournament in there, or something? Who's the massive, expensively-dressed one with the baby?"

"That's Lieutenant Vergeer," Nick murmured, "the answer to all your college problems, once we've got your witness situation sorted out. Keep your voice down – his hearing is weirdly good. Right, let's go."

They walked at a snail's pace down to the lifts while Warwick shuffled along on his crutches behind them. Livvy got into the lift and held the doors open while Nick nipped down the stairs, claiming claustrophobia, but checking the atmosphere in the carpark before they arrived. He couldn't feel anything out of place. He opened up, and they helped Warwick into a low position in the back seat. It took a few moments to get the nav to accept his safe-code, then they had a route and they were off on their way.

The safehouse was only a five minute drive away, as it happened. Nick pulled into the ground floor of the multi-storey carpark next door to their destination block of flats, and parked as close to the entrance as possible. He and Livvy got out of the front seats, armed, and he walked slowly around a twenty-metre perimeter from the car, seeing if he picked up that eerie watched sensation he'd had in the morning. He felt uncomfortable, but didn't pick up anything out of the ordinary.

Livvy mouthed across to him. _Ok?_

"Yeah – I think we're good". She went back to get Warwick out of the car and he retrieved their overnight bags from the boot. There was a first-floor footbridge that linked directly into the flats, so they headed for the lifts, walking past nasty graffiti, neglected store rooms with the doors hanging open, treading over crap left on the floor both from the birds in the rafters and from people not picking up their litter.

"Nice," Nick commented. He thumbed the lift button and nothing happened. Great. He'd just taken Warwick's crutches so that Livvy could help him to hop up to the first floor, when that cold feeling descended on him again. He murmured into Livvy's ear. "Get him out of sight. I want to sweep the area again."

"I'm supposed to do that. Remember? Light duties?"

The cold feeling was moving bone deep. "Humour me - it's just a feeling. I can't explain it, but I'm calling Jan. I think we need to move."

"A feeling?" She frowned at him. "Ah – ok. We need to work with that, then."

For a moment he thought she was being sarcastic but she started moving pretty briskly with Warwick, half-carrying him into the shadow of the stairwell. The kid did his best, in fairness, to keep pace with her without making too much noise, either by whimpering or with his plastercast on the floor of the echoey carpark. Nick stepped away from them and got his mobile out, dialling Jan's number. He didn't let it connect – just registered the call on Jan's phone. Then sent a text. _Need new code – I think we're compromised._

A response came back in moments. _Get out of there. I have a lock on your car. I'll come find you._

Nick put his phone away and unholstered his gun again, moving away from Livvy and Warwick while keeping them in sight with constant glances to the left.

Then he was aware of two things at the same time – a look of complete alarm growing on Livvy's face and a twitch of her hand like she was about to throw it up and warn him: simultaneously, he felt breathing in the air and imminent cold threat and leapt into an instinctive and blind spin kick in reverse. His foot contacted with the face of a young lowen in a frat jacket, sending him crashing against the wall of the maintenance block, and while he had spinning momentum, he cracked a second lowen across the face, putting his whole upper body into it. They scrambled to their feet unevenly, then leapt on him.

**X x X**


	6. Fights and flights

**Hi folks, thanks as ever for the wonderful reviews. As I left you at the very beginning of a fight scene, I thought I'd get this up before going over to the Netherlands for Xmas (on thurs). Depending on how much of the evening Dutch conversation I grasp (HA HA), I might update again between Xmas and New Year – but 7 is more likely to come out in January. I hope you continue to enjoy! Thanks for following, favouriting, and so on!**

"GET OUT OF HERE!" Nick roared, and Livvy whipped round to firelift Warwick up the stairs and into hiding – but he'd completely disappeared. Not behind her or on the stairs. Not in the shadows. Not to either side. Not up – the only remaining solution – just gone, vanished, as he had done when she tried to drop him off the previous night. Fine. So, since he was such a good hider, she turned her attention back to Nick, who was on his back on the concrete, his service piece several yards across the stone of the carpark and his arms shaking from bracing Irvine and Blake away from him with his hands across their throats. She dived left of their threesome scramble and temporarily waylaid Blake, the smaller of the two, by scooping her foot up between him and Nick and kicking him firmly in the gut. As Blake grunted and tented upwards, she hauled him off Nick, pressed him on his back and scraped him into a Jitsu pin while Nick slugged away at Irvine.

Blake was ridiculously strong. While her grip prevented him from twisting loose sideways, it took her full weight across his shoulders to keep him from just sitting up and dislodging her. Nick was just about keeping on top of Irvine's attack. She'd never seen Nick fight and would never have believed that anyone so…unimposing could put so much force behind a punch or intercept blows so quickly. Suddenly Nick had Irvine trapped on his back, grinding his teeth furiously as he struggled to release the wrists and thighs pinned against the cold floor. For a teenager, his face was frighteningly full of rage and for one split second took on a leonine quality – the eyes hard, angular and luminescent, the teeth overgrown. Livvy caught her breath, first not quite sure if she'd seen what she'd seen, then convinced she had, but unwilling to process it.

There was a stalemate for just a second as Irvine and Nick locked wrathful gazes and Irvine muttered something in disbelief, which Livvy couldn't catch through Blake's grunts of effort to get away from her. Then Irvine caught a second wind, twisting free, belting Nick across the face and scrambling away, but only for seconds before Nick lunged after and tackled him against the wall of the maintenance block.

She should've been paying more attention to Blake: following Irvine's lead, he summoned upper body strength from nowhere, broke free of her grip and not only sat up with her still trying to press against his shoulders but also tossed her backwards and across him. She felt the crack to her head like a rear blow from a lead pipe and for a moment resorted to thrashing her legs out blindly, feeling dim satisfaction as she hooked one of Blake's legs and sent him crashing down. Still seeing red and white stars, she scrabbled after him, hoping to re-pin him, but he repaid her the kick in the gut with one of his own, followed by a boot in the face, and pelted after Irvine up the stairs.

If Irvine was free― Nick!

She looked back, half expecting to see a half-dead partner on the floor, and was hugely relieved to see Nick alert enough to dart over to his gun and collect it. He caught her eye, frowned and dashed over, pulling her hair out of a sticky patch on her cheek.

"Livvy! Shit…. You ok?"

"F-f-f…" Ok, fuck '_fine'_. Bad word to choose when winded. "Warrickgone," she half-mouthed, half-wheezed, and pointed frantically up the stairs, having to work on the basis that he was in danger of being snatched while trying to get away. She scrambled for her phone to accelerate their back-up, then it was Nick's turn to vanish in pursuit of them. Great. Understandable, choiceless, but fucking _great_. She'd have a carcass to peel off the eighth floor, instead. She pulled herself up the stairs, bullying air into her lungs. She tried speed-dialling straight into Portland despatch, but suffered a frustrating bout of boot-induced amnesia about which number despatch was programmed to and nearly ended up calling her Dad. The sound of screeching tires went right through her, then she heard pounding feet across the echoey plaza. Remembering abruptly that they were dealing with a fraternity and that she could still be in danger, the second she felt hands landing on her shoulders, she dropped out of the grip, twisted and flicked a side-kick back at groin-height.

Lieutenant Vergeer staggered three or four paces backwards with a sharp yell, grabbing his inner thigh, and clenching his teeth. "Bloody _HELL_!"

"I'm _so_ sorry!" God, she wanted to be sick…

Vergeer looked over at her, his eyes watering, and she was expecting a sharp rebuke but he stumbled across, grabbing her head lightly, and inspected her face at close range. She felt him fold her calmly down onto the bottom step, sticking her head firmly between her legs and holding it there for a moment. "Feeling better, or need to lie down?"

"'M _fine_ – Nick prob'ly not – upstairs, outnumbered," she mumbled, trying to get the important information out.

"Outnumbered? By how many?"

"Two."

"Thank you. _Stay here_, Livvy. Wu's coming with backup."

She felt she ought to say something repentant and raised her head with what she hoped was an apologetic look. Her head spun horribly. "Lieutenant, I'm really glad your groin is that much higher than everyone else's."

"Me too, oddly. Don't worry about it." Jan slammed a magazine into his Beretta, then thankfully lunged past her up the stairs before she could say anything _totally_ embarrassing. She was glad his groin was really high? Oh Christ… She dipped her face into her hands and groaned. Up until just then, Jan Vergeer had been the only one who'd taken her even vaguely seriously.

: : : : :

The lowen kids were fast – really fast – and about a flight of steps ahead of him. Nick chased noisily, driving them upwards away from Warwick's hiding place in the ground level stockroom. He could tell by the change in cadence of their running rhythm that they'd broken out of the stairwell and trusted his hearing to help him gain on them as they darted into the main carpark and wound their way up to the roof using the car ramps. They appeared to have split up, their footfalls no longer sounding together, and he chose to pursue Irvine rather than Blake – he trusted Livvy's comment that he appeared to be the ringleader of things – at least on fratboy level. The kid's eyes had been completely cold: a second's alarm at the realisation that he was a Grimm, a curse, then a violent escape. Accelerating, he gained on Irvine, who darted back into the stairwell and leapt up them three or four at a time in his tireless lowen form. Nick kept the pressure up – there was nothing on the top floor except the fire escape out onto the roof.

He heard the kid boot the door open in a panic and chased out after him, diving onto the back of his legs. They struggled and rolled painfully across the muddy gravel, both pebbly and boggy from nights of rain, until Nick found a split second's advantage and rammed his knuckles into the small of Irvine's back. While the panting lowen cursed and scrabbled at the gravel with his claws, Nick dumped his piece, snatched his plastic cuffs out and restrained him, pushing down on the back of Irvine's neck to keep him still while the kid screamed abuse back at him with incomprehensible levels of rage. Nick's head hurt, hands hurt, back hurt, face hurt. He wasn't in the mood for abuse and stuffed Irvine's face into a mud patch.

"What's that about fucking Grimms?"

"Mmmmrhhh agh nnnrrf!"

"Pardon me?"

"Mmmf!"

"Nope, not catching that at all. Your love for me is making you mumbl―"

A wild kick to his right ribs sent him crashing over sideways, knocking the air out of him. Blake. Shit. How could he forget about Blake? He tried to roll over onto his knees, but they were both on their feet now, albeit with Irvine still cuffed, kicking him on either side each time he managed more than a few inches of lift off the floor. He was running out of air and if they kept this up, they'd break something. Snatching wildly, he grabbed two handfuls of denim and pulled up, upending them both. Irvine's flailing foot caught his vulnerable shoulder and Nick bit back a roar as he struggled up onto his knees and snatched his gun back up. Blake kicked it out of his hand. He was just starting to count the inches to the end of his physical rope when a blue-shirted figure leant past him, grabbed both fratboys by the jackets, woged fully and ROARED.

The noise made Nick's ears throb and the gravel vibrate. It also made the two boys, to Nick's monumental surprise, pale visibly and flip face down, hands behind their backs – resentful, but supplicant. Jan shifted back to human, cuffed Blake and then used a plastic tie to tie their cuffs together.

Jan brushed his shirt off and helped him to his feet. "Sorry to pull wesenrank while you're on Grimm duty, but that'll keep them quiet for a bit."

Nick had to stay bending forward for a moment to get his breath back, bracing his hands on his knees. "Thanks… for the back-up."

"You're welcome. Wait a moment..." Jan pulled out his mobile and directed Wu and uniforms up to the roof.

Wesenrank? Oh yeah… Nick recalled Warwick mentioning it. He glanced over at the frat boys, who glowered hatefully from the gravel, but remained silent. They hadn't feared him in the slightest – neither of them, in the briefest moment they'd caught his eye. But if fear of an angry Pride King could instil that kind of obedience in them, he could better understand their thirst to become part of a bigger, more powerful breed, like Jan. Frat boys were competitive enough, let alone verrat-parented, psychopathic frat boys. Nick shuddered and felt a light hand on his shoulder.

"You alright?"

"Quite a…high energy expenditure," Nick panted, struggling to straighten up, and was genuinely surprised to hear Jan burst out laughing. He looked up, bemused. "What, no lecture? No heavy, understanding sigh?"

"Hmmm."

"Hmmms are just as bad."

Jan shrugged. "I've just leapt up eight flights of stairs on a crucified leg – I'm not going to waste energy sighing at you. Besides, you _did_ call me. And you get gallantry points for protecting a vulnerable witness. It was a good fight for someone on LIGHT DUTIES, but you're lucky to be alive."

Nick rolled his eyes at Jan's unaccidental emphasis. "Are you done?"

"I'm done. But do me a favour, Nick. Keep a low profile tomorrow. Please? Renard's back in earnest and I do want things to look reasonably operational. Do a half-day, and keep largely out of sight. You're a bit of a mess."

"Sure." Nick regarded Jan sceptically but he genuinely wasn't radiating the air of brotherly disapproval that he was getting so used to. The only thing to dent his impossibly smooth exterior was his massive limp. "By the way, what happened to your—"

Wu burst out onto the roof with two uniforms in tow, all weapons out, looking around in wild confusion. "I heard a lion!"

"You heard a Harley," Jan contradicted.

"Jan! I may seem senile compared to you, but I know the difference between a motorbike and a lion!" Wu looked round at his back-up, who gave him no back-up. One of them coughed sheepishly.

"Actually, as it's a carpark, maybe―"

"Treacherous cowards! Who had to be dragged kicking and screaming onto this roof two seconds ago? That was a fricking lion!"

Jan threw his hands up helplessly. "Ok, fine. I'm busted. It's been that kind of day."

Nick stared as incredulously as Wu. What the hell was he playing at?"

"Huh?"

"You've got me. I always turn into a lion when I want to intimidate a suspect." Jan shrugged. "It's this kink I have. I'd prefer that it didn't become common knowledge. Nick's already sworn to secrecy."

Nick's aches helped him to keep a straight face – just. He noted that while being hauled to their feet, neither Blake nor Irvine chose to speak up. There was a long stare-off between Wu and Jan, until Wu dragged his hands down his face wearily.

"Ok, now I feel silly."

Jan gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder. "It's been a long day, John."

"Hell, yeah. Anyway, what are we booking these guys for?"

Jan counted off the charges on his fingers. "Conspiracy to murder, conspiracy for false imprisonment, assault, resisting arrest—"

Wu snickered as the uniforms scraped the guys off the ground, and ushered them –still pinned together at the back – towards the fire door. "Resisting arrest? What – they tried running from Nick through a multi-storey car park? Dudes – that's unwise on so many levels!"

Nick rolled his eyes but Jan gave in to the gag. "Sadly, yes. They were unwise on the ground level, unwise on the third level…"

Ground level… Nick felt a jolt of slack-mentor guilt. "Livvy! Is she ok?"

"She's fine, Nick. A bit stunned, but she's a tough cookie."

She was. As they creaked their way over to the firedoor and lifts, he felt bad about running away from her while her eyes were crossed. She'd really helped him, back there. "She's a good fighter."

"Naturally. I'm not going to pair you up with someone that can't handle themselves, you know." Jan dropped his voice as they went down the echoey stairs – Wu, uniforms and prisoners took the lift. "Things are clearly getting heavy – I don't think it's safe for you to go home even without Warwick. What do you say to a safer second safehouse?"

Nick winced. He wanted his own bed, ideally. After a long bath. "Where were you thinking?"

"I'm thinking Hank's place. It's probably safer than our so-called safehouses."

"That would be _good_. But isn't he supposed to be studying?"

"I spoke to him earlier. He's having the mid-session revision crisis and could probably do with a break from the books. Incidentally, if you could prevent him from actually burning all his books in a fit of panic, I'd be grateful. And so will he, further down the line."

: : : : :

Warwick decided that the worst possible place to have the shakes was behind a locked door in a dark, urine-stenched room, which definitely discouraged him from lying down to recover. But there was no turning the shakes off. He sweated, gathering his black coat round him. The shakes would only get worse if he went much longer with nothing to eat or drink, but he was really reluctant to draw attention to it. Once they got him out, he might last until someone shoved a juice at him without him having to beg for one. Twice in twenty-four hours… the Grimm would think him a complete weakling. He wasn't sure why this bothered him so much, but it did. For some ungraspable reason, he needed Nick's approval in a way that he used to need his parents'. Now he just feared his parents. It wasn't the same, at all.

It had been a while since he'd heard any noise outside. There had been a violent fight, followed by the flight of the three guys, then the huge Lieutenant had turned up and –from their odd conversation – had been kicked or punched somewhere... unusual, then the sarcastic Chinese guy from the precinct had turned up and quickly checked on the girl detective before running up the stairs himself. Since then, quiet, except for groaning outside. Andersen. Warwick wondered if she was ok. On one hand, he ought to swallow his pride, shout for help, get out, and then see if she was alright. On the other hand, announcing his presence in the room would involve explaining how he got in there in the first place, which may make things very difficult for Nick. He decided on a half-way approach. He'd confide in her, make her swear to secrecy about how he got in, and beg her to let him explain his weird abilities to Nick in his own way – like he didn't know.

Warwick tried his voice out. "Uh...hello?"

There was a pause, then footsteps. "Warwick?"

"I'm stuck in this room."

"How the hell did you…? Never mind. Are you ok?"

She hadn't demanded an explanation. Weird. Relieving, but weird. "Could you get me out? I have blood sugar problems."

"Ok... What's the issue with opening the door? Is it padlocked from the inside or something, or are you physically unable to get to it?"

"Kind of both," he yelled, wiggling the lock, fruitlessly. "It's just a bolt but it's all seized up, and…" God this was embarrassing. "The little tab's too small for me to get a proper grip." Or apply any normal teenaged-boy force to the tab, for that matter.

"Ok, I'll kick it in. Can you crawl somewhere safe?"

Warwick gaped. "You can't kick the door in!"

"Tell you what. You don't tell _me_ what I can and can't do, and I'll give _you_ time to explain your flying. Deal?"

"Flying?" he repeated innocently. "You're nuts!"

There was a pause, and then her voice came back terse. "Did you pass through the wall via osmosis?"

She had him, there. Passing through solid matter as a collection of molecules was not part of his genius. "Uh…no…."

"Then you flew. Took off light – landed light. It's an open-topped room – I can tell by your echo. You can't have jumped, because we would've heard you landing with the crutches, and you sure as hell didn't just hop in there and close the door while Nick and I were having the shit kicked out of us, because if you'd been seen, it would've been a completely different kind of punch-up."

Her acceptance of his flying was just bizarre. He had one last try at converting her back to being a reassuringly standard and Scully-esque cop. "You know that flying's illogical, right?"

"Listen you," God, she sounded angry. "Flying is the _only_ logical thing left. I happen to believe my eyes and my ears, ok? The only times I've ever chosen to ignore what I've seen or sensed, it's ended badly for me. So shut the hell up, stop making me second-guess myself, and get away from the damn door."

He shuffled away rapidly, recognising a sore spot when he saw one.

"You clear?"

"Yeah!"

There was a deafening crash and the door exploded inwards, spreading shards of rotten door frame across the dank interior of the room. The door then dropped off its top hinge, creaking alarmingly. Warwick's total shock was mirrored in Nick's expression and the Lieutenant's bewildered posture as they appeared behind her. Nick followed Andersen in and helped her to pull him to his feet and walk him out. It took two of them. Warwick's legs felt like fine rice noodles.

"He needs juice," Andersen reported, as if she hadn't just blown a door off with her foot. The Lieutenant limped over to his car.

Nick glanced uncertainly back at the door. "Uh… we have axes for these moments, you know."

"He's hypo. I didn't want to wait around for one."

They made their way to a second car, delivered by one of the uniforms. Best not to take Nick's again, Warwick realised. Nick was still staring back at the destructed door. "It's off its fucking hinges! Liv, where did you do learn to do that?"

"I used to be a childminder."

Nick clearly felt that there were a few paragraphs of history missing from this explanation. "That doesn't explain your... Miami Vice style of entry!"

"Well sure it does! I've retrieved many a curious toddler from locked public restrooms." She grabbed keys from Nick and bipped the car open, fighting briefly with the heavy back door. "Nick, I've been kicked in the head, so you're driving."

"Fair enough." Nick took the keys back and shared a bewildered look with him. "We're going to a different safe house. You guys ok? Do we need to swing past the ED first?"

Warwick shook his head, slurping gratefully on the carton of apple juice that the vast Lieutenant had produced from his car. He'd be fine in fifteen minutes. Livvy shook her head, and bounced into the front seat, staring out of the window at… the beautiful carpark… with an expression that suggested that she might be quiet for a bit. Maybe she wasn't going to bring up the flying thing until they were alone again, which suited him, as he could maybe talk her away from the direction of wesen-stuff. They pulled out, and just as Nick was negotiating the chicanes out of the rear exit, she cleared her throat and sat up straight.

"Just so you guys know, I have a really broad capacity for accepting weird. Not much fazes me. However, I have a really short tolerance for _unshared_ weird, and you guys know perfectly well that _that_, back there, was no ordinary catfight."

Nick looked over and Warwick caught a brief flash of understanding between them, despite Andersen's irritability. "I'm not trying to freeze you out of anything. It's just that some stuff… is difficult to drop into conversation."

"Fine." She shrugged amiably enough and slumped dozily against the car door. "You've got an overnight reprieve while I have a migraine, then you'd better start dropping things into conversation. Ok?"

Nick met his eyes in the rearview mirror, looking apprehensive. Perhaps too apprehensive. Warwick began to question why it was so important that she was kept on the outside of things. Weirdly, and contrary to all childhood legends, he felt safest with the Grimm. He should be scared witless after Irvine and Blake's attack, but he wasn't. And he had a funny feeling that once Andersen had some understanding of the world he lived in, he'd feel safe with her, too.

**X x X**

Sean sat behind the wheel of his car and waited as patiently as he could for Jan to return home from his call-out. he'd decided that the best strategy was to get him and Miller together, explain his undesirable mixed heritage, appeal (hopefully) to Miller's empathy over the need to conceal the lesser-understood half of him, and then let them know that he knew what _they_ were. If the mood was right and there were no child-related complications that prevented an adult discussion, he'd disclose himself as a Royal. But he'd have to make it clear that he wanted to explain everything to Nick himself. Nothing must reach him second-hand.

He was prepared to be as open as he could – the only forbidden conversational ground being any talk of Patriarchs or Champions. At least not in Jan's presence. Being told what he was and what he could do ran the risk of changing his beneficent behaviour. Sean didn't think that was very likely, but he'd promised Remus to steer clear of that territory.

Sean rolled his head across the back of the neck, feeling old and achey and not just because of the travelling back from France. Secrecy had begun to sit in his stomach like a cold stone. It had been bad enough not being able to tell Burkhardt exactly how Juliette had come to be woken, and then the pressure of fighting a hundred silent information wars silently had worn him down. He couldn't face Nick at all a few weeks ago, when his Hexenbiest was cowering and his conscience emerging, because he had no idea what to do with the head-ful of noisy conscience that he suddenly seemed to have. Having hidden what he was for so long, there was no way he could've looked into Nick's eyes without seeing his ruptured soul screaming back at him, and he didn't want his 'tame Grimm' finding out about him like _that._

But things were different, now. His conscience had a direction, and it needed an army.

Sean shifted in his seat, deciding that if Jan hadn't turned up in ten minutes, he'd call the precinct to find out how the safehouse rescue had gone. Impatience strummed at his nerves like a tireless guitarist. Now that he'd decided that he needed to shed his secrets, he was almost desperate to get on with it.

**X x X**

Jan let himself in through the back door so he could limp up the buggy slope instead of traumatising his leg with any more steps. The bruise burned with every movement. But it was still just a bruise. He decided to self-medicate with beer. The other advantage of the back door was that it creaked like a competitive crypt, so there was little danger of startling Denny with a silent arrival. He closed the door and headed straight for the kitchen, waving at Denny as he passed. His friend was sprawled on the couch watching a Dr Who re-run pitting David Tennant against the Ood.

"Beer?" Jan offered.

"Sorted, thanks." Denny's smile turned into a frown as Jan made his way into the front room. "You alright? You're moving like an octogenarian. Did everything… go ok back there?"

"No serious damage to anyone," Jan grunted.

"A bit of medium damage to you though, I note."

"Never, _never_ get kicked by Olivia Andersen," he groaned, pushing his shoes off with his toes and started unbuttoning his trousers so he could get an icepack on his leg. "I'm sorry about the strip show, but…"

Jan trailed off, chuckling at the sight of Carianne, who was napping on Denny's stomach as she often did, but this time spread-eagled across him, flat on her back, snoring gently and wearing Denny's aviator shades. As they were three times wider than her head, they stayed on through luck rather than balance or gravity. She looked like a very cool but slightly drunken starfish. Jan stroked the tiny bit of her cheek visible below the shades and she redoubled her snoring, making both of them giggle.

"The cramping's gone, then?" Jan asked, referring to her happy flatness.

"Cause found – no more Lasix. Hopefully the photosensitivity will go in a couple of days, too."

"Thank God for that." Jan pulled his trousers down gingerly and ignored Denny's appalled expression at the clear black boot-heel outline on his thigh. It was mistily outlined with a cloud of maroon. "I'll put her down in a moment." Though he might have a struggle getting her off Denny, he realised. She may be sleeping like a tomb-dweller, but she still had her little fist wrapped uncompromisingly around his forefinger tip. She was completely addicted to him – as was Theo, in his way. Jan realised that the place was very quiet and peaceful for half seven.

"No Theo?"

"Staying with Matty overnight. Apparently they became inseparable after tea, so Bud's nicely said he can sleep over. Oh – and before I forget, he brought bad tidings from the nursery."

Jan swigged on his beer, deciding to pick his way carefully through the punch-up conversation. The last thing he wanted Denny to think was that he thought his friend had lost control. He'd been trying really hard. "Is this worse than you getting assaulted this morning?"

"I'll come onto that. No, the big news is that Theo is going to be playing the Innkeeper at the pre-school nativity."

"Oh God." Jan could just imagine Theo refusing Joseph's credit card.

"Exactly. He holds the entire plot in his hands. I don't know what they were playing at, to be honest. It's either going to be an Oscar winning performance, or it'll be total carnage. So I've texted the rest of the gang to let them know that they're expected to come along and wince with us."

Jan shuddered. "I need several beers, all of a sudden." He took Carianne to put her to bed first. "I'll grab some brews on the way back and you can 'come onto' this morning's incident."

: : : : :

Denny watched Jan creak up the stairs to put Carianne down and finished his beer in one go, heading to the kitchen to get two more. Each. They were silly European-sized bottles and took about ten seconds to drink. He felt the need to get a little more alcohol into him before getting into things.

It wasn't so much the morning's incident that he was reluctant to go over – it sounded like Jan had his back on that one. It was more the fact that they needed to discuss what he was – half Siegbarste – and the implications of this, particularly as that idiot Dad at the nursery knew about it despite his best efforts to think, feel, act and remain manifestly human. He chuckled grimly to reflect that just a few months ago, he'd been bitter, hostile, barely emerging from total isolation and determined to hide his human side from any wesen who might choose to mess with him. But now he was happy, he'd done a 180. He didn't want people knowing about his darker half. He was very clearly not full Siegbarste. The rarity made him stand out while he was trying to keep a low profile. The rarity connected him far too obviously to his past.

The incident with Livvy recognising him, as innocuous as it was, made it painfully clear that he couldn't keep looking over his shoulder all the time. The honourable thing to do would be to get a couple of months' wages, move out but move close, but certainly remove any focus on Jan or Jan's kids. Denny eyed the line of egg shell faces with cress growing out of the top that were cluttering up the kitchen window sill. They made him laugh every time he looked at them. The problem was… he didn't think he'd be able to pull away and leave in a couple of months. He wasn't sure he could handle life without being an 'honorary Vergeer', as Theo called him.

Jan limped back down the stairs in a teeshirt and his Federation tracksuit bottoms. Predictably, he picked up his beer and got straight to the point. "So, this morning. What kicked it off? The usual 'step-dad' shit?"

Denny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that doesn't help, but his rampant homophobia's going to give him an ulcer before it hurts me. No, it wasn't his usual insinuating crap about us being half-married. It was about… species. Look, you know how I've tried to be really careful? I've only woged once since siege night, but Bison-guy must have seen it."

"When you changed the car tire?"

Yeah, in the pouring rain with both Jan's mini-mes having simultaneous but unrelated tantrums of the back seat of an SUV that would not leave the nursery carpark.

"Clearly the bloke's got Siegbarste issues as well, but that's just the surface of a bigger problem." Denny cleared his throat and dived straight in. "At some point, my mixed heritage is going to become clear to the wrong person, and that's going to link me rather obviously to who I _used _to be."

Jan frowned. "We all change, Denny. You wouldn't have known me ten years ago."

"No, literally, Jan. I used to be someone else. Someone who was supposed to have died, when―"

The doorbell rang and Denny had to suppress the urge to fling his beer bottle through the glass panel at whoever had intervened at this critical moment. Jan shifted his viewing angle and sighed heavily.

"It's the Captain."

"What?"

Jan stood heavily. "He wouldn't come for no reason. I'm so sorry. We'll come back to this. You used to be someone else – that's a hard place to cut a conversation in half."

Denny waved him wearily to the door. Fine, so it was clearly important. It didn't mean that he didn't want to kick the Captain between the legs. Or – if the state of Jan's thigh was anything to go by – maybe he could get Livvy to do it for him.

**X x X**

Jan's welcome was courteous but hardly warm, and Sean wondered what he'd interrupted as he stepped into the big house.

"I'm sorry for the out-of-hours visit," Sean said sincerely, "but what I need to say can't be said at the precinct."

Miller grunted and nodded at him, heading into the kitchen, presuming he wasn't needed.

"Actually, this concerns both of you," Sean began, as he accepted the armchair seat indicated by Jan, who sat opposite, on the edge of the couch, his beer in hand. "I need to explain something about myself that will change the way we work as a team, going forward."

Miller turned back from the sink quizzically, as he piled parts of baby bottles from the steamer on the counter onto a tray on the draining board. "I'm not based with the precinct. Physically, maybe, but I'm with the Mayor's office. Aren't I?"

Sean sighed. "Please – this is important, and not easy to say." He took a deep breath as they closed in on him silently, Miller coming out of the kitchen with the tray to assemble, presumably, the bottles in the sitting room while they talked. Under their expectant stare, he lost the starting point that he'd been mentally rehearsing for the last hour and decided that what he needed to do was get straight to the point. "Let me explain," he said, and then woged.

The reaction was rather more electric than he'd actually planned for. Jan didn't woge in return, but did inhale a lot of beer and then aspirated it across the carpet in a choking fit: behind him, Miller _did_ woge and cleared the floor, dropping back on it in a heap and a rain of nibs, rings and caps, grabbing his head as he shifted back to human.

Jan looked back in alarm, still half-breathing liquid.

Sean grimaced slightly, trying to remain sober as Jan stumbled over to Miller and peeled him off the kitchen linoleum into a seated position, looking pale and slightly anaphylactic. He knew himself the pain of stress-woges as a gemischtwesen, but Miller seemed more concerned about his chest than his head, rubbing it shakily.

"D-Den… you 'right?"

"No!" Miller glared up at Sean, bewildered, even as he reached an arm back to absently slam Jan between the shoulders. "Fucking Nora, _what_ was that in aid of?"

"We're all wesen," Sean insisted calmly. "I'm a Hexenbiest. Half – like you. I needed to get that out in the open."

Jan glared across at him flatly. "Well, you've done that. I'm sure there are less alarmist ways you could've opened that conversation."

Sean shrugged. "I know. I rehearsed a few. But I've been dithering a lot, lately. If I'd built up to it, it would've taken me all night."

Miller staggered to his feet and started throwing dirty bits of baby bottle onto the tray. "Any other big revelations you'd like to chuck in, while we're all properly terrorised?"

Sean almost laughed. Now that part of the conversation was almost handed to him on a plate. "Yes. I'm also the Prince of Portland. And I need you two to help me find a way of telling our friendly Grimm without him trying to kill me."


	7. Revelations

**Hi folks – Happy New Year! Hope everyone had a nice one. **

**This chapter is a fair bit longer than usual, but I had a lot to get through. I hope it's ok – it's broken down into three scenes. Usual service resumed soon – I don't plan to write a tome with each update, lol.**

**Thanks so much to all who have followed, favourited and thanks a million if you've left a review. It means a huge amount (and I really do pay attention to the suggestions in them!) Anyway – I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**X x X**

Sean got to his feet and walked towards the two men in the kitchen, trying to recover a little of his savoir faire in the face of the stark hostility on the giants' faces. The post-woge lightning bolt cracking through the top of his head made him regret his better-out-than-in policy, but not as much as the glare he was getting from Miller. He suddenly realised how rash he'd been: he'd lived too long with the privileges of a Prince and had ridiculously almost forgotten that there was no one behind him keeping watch. Miller slapped the tray of bottle parts back down on the kitchen counter and looked him up and down as if deciding which bit of him to hit first. Sean took a couple of subconscious steps backwards only to bump into Jan, who was suddenly and inexplicably behind him. How the fuck…? He was on the floor just in front … fifteen seconds ago!

"Right…I presume," Miller began steadily, "that you're here to talk, not to fight. Or you'd have brought more people with you."

"Here to talk," Sean agreed. "I want to build an alliance."

"Really? Well you're off to a bit of a shaky start then, aren't you? Look, I don't really know the significance of you being the 'Prince in Portland' or whatever, but from Jan's expression ― _don't turn round when I'm talking to you!_ ― it looks like you've got reputational problems."

"It is a bad reputation – earned." Sean took a deep breath and steered a more constructive path towards the truth, trying not to feel like the sophomore in front of the principal. It was the first time he could actually 'see' Miller as a teacher and had to admit he'd probably been a very good one. "I've done a lot of wrong things for the right reasons―"

Miller was calm, but incredibly stern. "There's _never_ a right reason to induce a stress-woge."

"I wasn't trying to induce a stress-woge!" Sean flushed at being caught doing exactly that and tried to recover just a few ounces of his Royal sangfroid. It had gone AWOL. "There's a lot to explain. I just thought it would be efficient to demonstrate my wesen heritage rather than waste time talking about it. We both have backgrounds to conceal from the Ver―"

"So you were appealing to me as one gemischtwesen to another, were you?"

"That was the plan."

"Well then, you should know that woges hurt like fuck, _especially_ the involuntary ones. They shove your pulse up through the roof and make you feel like someone's just put a crossbow bolt through your head. It gets us half-humans the worst – we're not designed to woge. We've all got a critical physical flaw. What's yours?"

Having started the openness policy with such a bang, it seemed pointless being coy now, particularly as he was having to lean on the post between kitchen and front door to keep his balance as his brain continued to clench and unclench. There was no doubting Miller's point: his last woge had almost made him drive his car off the road in shock, nearly taking a pedestrian out. It had taken many hours to get back to any kind of physical or neural normality.

"Well?"

"Endochrinal," Sean admitted eventually. "I can't control adrenaline flow."

Miller laughed mirthlessly. "That's a bit of an unfortunate hiccup in your line of work, isn't it? How'd you keep from shifting in front of Nick?"

Sean stared him down, pride in his woge-control ushering a little hauteur back in. He'd withheld his woge for a whole year and might have restrained it for a second had Nick not started his Grimm evolution so ridiculously early. "I handled it. And your flaw is…?"

"Cardiac. I got medically retired from the army when I was thirty-two." Miller shrugged ruefully. "Yeah. A bit young, right? I was ten feet away from an IED in Helmand when it blew up. Quite a few of us took shrapnel, some worse than others…"

While Miller explained, Sean saw Jan step out from behind him and approach his friend slowly, but glance towards the kitchen, his face hugely troubled. Sean followed his gaze and saw a bizarre 'no stalking' sign on the fridge, featuring an upright lion. It seemed that he'd not been the only one scaring the living daylights out of the Siegbarste. He was pretty sure he heard Jan mutter 'shit' under his breath.

"…so two guys nearly died right next to me. It was my responsibility to get them out of there. I could see them bleeding, screaming and reaching and there was bugger all I could do to help them because I was too busy having a heart attack. I DON'T like being startled, alright? So next time you want to appeal to our brotherhood status of undesirable half-and-halfs, have the decency to start the conversation like an adult and USE SOME FUCKING COMMON SENSE!"

The brief, stunned silence following Miller's bellow was broken by the sound of indignant wailing from upstairs. Miller flung his hands up in frustration. "Great! Now you've woken the baby!"

Sean had enough self-preservation not to contradict this blatant untruth and kept his mouth shut as Miller stomped towards the stairs, caught by Jan, who'd moved to take his arm. They muttered among themselves briefly at the first landing, Jan being a better mutterer than Miller, whose undertone reached quite clearly down the stairs, delivering a few choice unpleasantries: 'alarmist git' and 'smug tosser' being among them. Miller bristled away upstairs: Jan trotted down, and Sean got himself ready with his plan A starting point now that he had a calmer audience to work with.

"Look Vergeer, I―"

White hot stars splashed across his face, crashing left to right from his cheekbone, and there seemed to be no sequential gap whatsoever between Jan hitting him and him eating carpet while struggling against a calm but completely impregnable grip on his wrists. He hadn't even seen Jan move. It hadn't been a particularly hard punch – more a casual flick of knuckles powered out from the elbow - but he was still having difficulty in focussing. He blinked water out of his eyes. This was all the wrong way round. It should be hitting from the _Siegbarste_….

"That's for the unpleasant surprise," Jan explained.

"I'm sure you're channelling a little guilt here, Lieutenant."

"Undoubtedly," Jan conceded, completing his grasp. "But while you're down there, I have questions."

Shock over, Sean's Hexenbiest reared up. "Get off."

"No, there's a couple of pressing matters to address first. Were you responsible for the poisoning of Juliette Silverton?"

"No I wasn't." He felt his adrenaline rising and his skin heating as he tried to pull free of Jan's grip.

"That's at least partial bullshit."

"Only partial." Sean took a deep breath and tried to suppress the incoming woge. "I… mismanaged an earlier situation which led Adalind Schade to use Juliette as a tool. To punish Nick. I tried to put things right by waking her up. It's all very… involved. This is the one thing I need to explain to Nick - personally."

There was a mild pause. Sean knew that Jan could sense the truth off people – how, he didn't know. Perhaps it was a Patriarch…thing. He couldn't physically lie to Jan, whatever.

"How long have you known about him being a Grimm?"

"Since his aunt passed away." Jan's grip abruptly tightened until he thought his wrists might actually snap and the adrenaline rocketed off around his body, producing the defensive toxin his skin always generated under rage and stress. He could not be making any more premature announcements. Not ones without context – not ones forced out of him like this. "Vergeer, I'm warning you―"

"Marie Kessler did not 'pass away'. She was murdered. Was that you?"

"Not… directly."

"Was… that…you?"

"Yes!" The toxin raged to the surface of his skin and he heard Jan hiss but did not feel his grip relax one tiny bit. "I spoke to her ― twice ― about her manner of dealing with the Verrat. She was killing indiscriminately and stirring them up every time I got them battered down. She was rogue, I was still in the Royal camp, I had to deal with her to keep my cover."

"You _were _in the Royal camp? So you're now disclaiming? Abdicating?"

How could he still be holding on? "Yes!"

"What's changed?"

"Theo."

Jan's voice dropped close to his ear, even but threatening. "What the fuck has my son to do with all this?"

"I'm his cha—"Sean cut himself off, disguising the syllable with a fairly genuine grunt of pain. He'd promised Remus no talk of Patriarchs or champions, and as badly as all this was going, he couldn't break that promise or he'd be in no-man's land: no Remus, no Royals, no allies – just more enemies, Jan among them. He came as close to the truth as he could. "Theo changed _me. _He took me into his pride, not knowing what I am. I'm now trying to earn my place in it."

Jan's grip eased, then released. Sean felt him step off and rolled woozily onto his back, circling his shoulders and rubbing his wrists. Jan reached a hand down to him, which he took – resentfully.

"If anything ever happens to my son because of your… mismanagements, the gloves are off. Do you understand? I will take you to pieces and bury the parts myself." Jan hadn't even raised his voice, but there was no doubting his sincerity.

Sean brushed himself down and met his flat stare. "I made those mistakes because I was doing things on my own. Things are getting… too big for me to operate alone now. I can't keep making those mistakes."

"That must hurt to admit."

"You'll never know."

"Yes I will, because you're going to explain." Jan jerked his head at the kitchen table. "Sit."

Sean folded his arms. "You don't talk to me like that."

"My den, my rules. Sit."

Jan flexed his fingers, still managing not to wince openly at from the toxic burns on his palms. He'd repair quickly enough, King Prides always did, but Sean was still too angry to tell him what the short-cut palliative for the pain was. Still, it was time to get things back on a more civilised footing. He sat, at least.

"Got that out of your system?"

Jan still looked stony, wringing his hands to air them. "I believe so."

"That's at least partial bullshit."

"Touché. Curious method of self-defence, Sir."

Sean snorted. "You slam me face-down on the carpet and still call me 'Sir'?"

"Force of habit. Did you drive here?"

"Yes."

"Fine, I'll make coffee. Then we can at least attempt to have the 'adult' conversation that Denny was talking about."

"I hope your adult conversation's going better than mine," Denny muttered, emerging from beneath a blanket as he joined them in the kitchen, bobbing the baby up and down on his shoulder. "She's not taking 'sorry' for an answer right now. Oh – you making coffee?"

"Yep. One for you too, of course."

Sean noticed Denny's sideways glance at Jan's conspicuous finger-tip grip on kettle and cup as he bustled around. A good champion – nothing passed him by where his Patriarch was concerned.

"What's up with your hands? You're holding those mugs like they're about to blow up."

"Nothing."

"Bollocks."

"Ok, we had a bit of a fracas."

Denny looked round as if seeking out fight damage. "Really? Must've been a bloody quiet one."

"I didn't think a noisy one would help you to settle Carianne."

"Oh… JAN! You're all pragmatism and no… punching!"

"I do enough punching at work, thank you!"

"Wouldn't kill you to lose your cool just once like the rest of us, would it?"

Sean almost smirked at the expression of total exasperation on Denny's face, but kept his crack round the face to himself, sitting as meekly as his pride would allow while coffee was made and Denny settled at the kitchen table with the baby, trying to settle her down from underneath the blanket. The problem was - he wasn't physically designed for meekness. His emotions were as divided as his heritage: his Hexenbiest raged against his Lieutenant getting the better of him physically; his human knew that he needed to play the long game and develop a sense of humility if he was going to break into the Vergeer-Miller-Burkhardt circle.

Jan eventually slid two big black cups onto the table. Sean took one with a grunt of thanks – the other was immediately snatched up by Denny. Jan brought a huge bowl of milk over, placing it directly in front of him.

Big, irritated King cat. Huge bowl of milk. Sean just couldn't help himself. "Feeling thirsty?"

Jan leant forward dangerously. "Would you like another smack in the face?"

"What?" Denny looked infuriated. "There _was _punching?"

"A punch." Sean offered. "Barely felt it."

"You choose the ten seconds I'm upstairs to lose your rag? For fuck's sake!"

"I didn't notice him losing his 'rag'… as such," Sean observed.

"Denny, stop being such a bloody Viking! It was _one_ punch! You missed nothing!"

"Still!"

Jan rolled his eyes and stuck his hands in the milk, cooling them and cleaning off the toxin. Then he lapsed straight back into interrogation mode. "There are trust issues to overcome, here. I think you'd better start by explaining why you had Kessler killed."

**X x X**

Hank pulled the door wide open for them and Nick shot him a grin of thanks as he carried Warwick through to the couch in the other room. It was good to be on familiar, comfortable territory. Livvy followed him, slowly as Hank ushered her in and closed up.

"Guys – it's good to see human faces. You both doing ok? Jan told me things went south at the ― Whoa man! Someone needs an ice pack!"

"I'm a woman," Livvy mumbled indistinctly, making Hank chuckle. Nick got the impression that they'd gotten to know each other a little while he'd been off on sick leave.

" 'Woman, you need an icepack' sounds harsh, however nice I try to say it." Hank emerged from the freezer with a bag of frozen pole beans for her face and wrapped a tea-towel around it. "Please tell me you kicked Doc Marten's ass?"

"I've got 'Doc Marten' on my face?"

"Imprinted," Hank confirmed.

"I didn't kick his ass hard enough," she muttered, but gave him a watery smile for the improvised ice pack. "Thanks. I'm going to go sit down."

Having made her firm declaration, she then didn't move. Nick touched her lightly on the arm.

"Livvy?"

"Hmmm?"

Oh crap. She looked concussed. In the darkness of the car, he hadn't seen how livid the bruise on her cheek was. "You were going to go sit down?"

"Oh yeah. Away from the windows – God, that was my own instruction even, wasn't it?"

"Stay still a sec." Nick tilted her face up lightly and followed her focus left and right across the room. Her eyes were reacting ok and she was steady on her feet, albeit very tired and stunned. He took her shoulders, walked her into the front room, and pushed her gently down into the deeper of Hank's two mis-matched armchairs. "Stay!"

He heard Warwick's weak throwaway question: "Is he always that bossy?" her muttered answer, "better not be," and grinned, heading into the kitchen to confer with Hank about calling an out-of-hours doctor to check her over. Hank was nowhere to be seen. Nick heard a 'pssst' and followed the sound into the utility room adjoining the kitchen, where Hank was standing with his back flush to the wall.

"You ok, man?" Hank asked bizarrely, for someone hiding in his own laundry.

"I was going to ask you! What's going on? Two weeks without a word and now you look like you did when you thought you were hallucinating the wesen! Exams not going ok?"

Hank cringed. "You don't know the half of it. Mortal fear, man. Exam panic attacks, dread, sweats, the whole deal. Do me one favour for a little while, ok? Talk about anything _other_ than the Lieutenancy exams."

Nick looked askance at Hank feeling like he'd be a selfish ass if he didn't talk about the thing that was scaring the skin off his friend. "I think you _need_ to talk about them."

"That's not how I deal with stuff, ok? I barricade myself in the smallest room in the house and I hide, then I'm fine. I don't want to think about them right now. Later – really." Hank wiped sweat off his face with his sleeve and gave him a tired smile. "Make me smile. How's it going with Andersen?"

Nick dropped his voice to a whisper. "I think she's onto me, Grimm-wise."

"Already? Is she wesen?"

Nick was still bewildered on this point. "If she is, she hasn't woged yet. But she's definitely picking up on wesen presence – she's called them at least three times now." Nick covered her alleycat-Lowen, frog-skalengek and three-blind-mice/reinigen spots.

"Wow. Is she an early Grimm?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe..."

Hank grinned. "Don't take this the wrong way, but it's quite fun to see you on the confused end of the stick."

"Thanks." Nick tried to put his apprehension into words. "It doesn't upset me that she might understand all that stuff. Part of me would be relieved if she did - it's made my life a hell of a lot easier since I've not had to lie to you. It's just that…"

"…she knows what you're thinking?"

"Don't you start!"

Chuckling, Hank fished a Chinese takeout leaflet out of a basket sitting on the washing tub. "Day before I went off on study leave, Jan sent us both over to West Side to give them extra cover, so I gave her a lift. Oh man – painful! You cannot have a quiet thought around that woman. The whole day it was like she was having both halves of our conversation for us — her out-loud part and my slightly less bouncy privacy-of-the-head part. Or so I thought. Are there psychic, hyperactive, non-woging wesen?"

Nick shook his head. His memory was good – they'd flicked through the entire section of the supernaturally-inclined beings when trying to find information on the Llorona. "Warwick made the same suggestion earlier, but he also mentioned her being a mentalist – which is probably closer to the truth. I don't think she reads minds. I think it's more that…she misses _nothing_. She leaps straight to the right conclusion from about seven clues taken altogether, and—"

"Stop talking about me!"

Nick and Hank froze and Nick edged out to peer into the kitchen, but her voice came all the way from the front room – well out of eavesdropping range. He called back. "We're not talking about you! We're… we're… ordering Chinese food!"

"No one is that conspiratorial or doubtful about Chinese food!"

"See what I mean?" hissed Nick.

Hank got busy with the phone and the takeout menu. "First aid kit's by the fridge now," he said. "See if you can get something for Livvy's cheek. The precinct doesn't need to see boot on her face. Boots on _your_ face we're kind of used to."

Nick creaked back into the kitchen and heard her having a probing conversation with Warwick in the front room that he clearly wasn't coping with very well. He left the kid to it, fast approaching a que-sera-sera mentality where Livvy and wesen-knowledge were concerned. The truth would be out post-reprieve anyway, and he was growing eager to find out how she was 'seeing' the same stuff as him, albeit maybe in a different form. He felt a little disoriented by his own laissez-faire attitude. After so long being secretive, having lost so much being secretive, it now felt like he was quitting something by being prepared to walk straight out into the light.

Was his Grimm going on strike? Nick wasn't sure if he knew, or cared. He was so _tired. _He didn't know whether his recent need for solid blocks of sleep was a new and interesting phase in the Grimm puberty… thing… or whether he needed to get some bloodtests done, but not-sleeping made him crash out worse than any other punishment that could be thrown at him. He just wanted food, beer, undemanding chat, bed – in that order. He reached over for Hank's first aid kit, knowing he had a few sore spots of his own to deal with, and felt his shoulder lock. He couldn't get his elbow within three inches of the height of his collar bone and gritted his teeth at the pain of trying to lift it higher. Ok – maybe painkillers first, and easy on the beer. He took a plaster to Livvy, who took it with a small smile. Then frowned at him.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Just getting tidied up."

He returned to the kitchen and downed a couple of the naproxen from the blister pack in the kit, swallowing them with a mouthful of water straight from the tap. Then he sat on the kitchen table, pulled out the antiseptic wipes and tucked the front of his sweatshirt under his chin so he could hold it out of the way while he cleaned up. He was just dabbing at a scrape halfway up his front as Hank came back in from the laundry room, flipping the menucard idly against his wrist and whistling. Then promptly cut out the whistling. "Nick! Goddamn it!"

"What?"

"Jan said you guys were ok!"

"We are." Nick tried reaching across his left side, but his arm wouldn't let him do it. "My shoulder's bugging me, but the rest is pretty superficial."

"Superficial?"

"Yep, nothing says 'superficial' quite like a bloody smattering of claw marks," Livvy observed from behind, and crossed in front to stand next to Hank. "You just said you were fine. Bullshitter."

Hank folded his arms. "You're in fractionally better shape than when Stark handed your ass to you, and it doesn't even seem to upset you. That's a little worrying, man."

Nick felt severely ganged up on. "I am fine!" Then thought about this. She'd been behind him when speaking. "How did you know about the marks? You couldn't have seen―"

"Your top rides up at the back when you lift your arms. Arm – rather. Your right shoulder's a little out of socket."

"And you know that because…?"

"This morning you drove with your hands at ten and two on the wheel – this evening you were struggling with eight and four on the underside. I think you have an air-pocket. It's really easy to reduce if you just ask, but I'm more concerned about the wild animal scratches."

He felt deflated, all of a sudden, watching his bed-time being pushed away into the smaller hours of the morning. "What happened to my reprieve?"

"It got cancelled when my 'partner' tried to hide lion claw marks from me." She folded her arms crossly.

Nick struggled to know where to start with an explanation of Lowen, why he hadn't just let them run, and why he sincerely didn't know he'd been scraped that much. Hank was glowering at him too, which seemed a little much. The frat-lowen had attacked _him_. It wasn't as if he'd dived into the lion enclosure at the zoo for a quick evening brawl. He decided to start with the issue of 'species'. "Livvy, they really weren't _actually_ lions―"

"Stop it, Nick!" Livvy stared straight at him and just for a second he thought he saw a glitter in her eyes like they were overfull. Past the moisture in her eyes, he realised she'd taken on a very soft rosy glow – like a corona, which spread slowly. Not in her face, though that was suddenly flushed with anger, but around her. He wondered if Hank was seeing it but there was no curiosity or confusion in his face.

She seemed to collect herself and cleared her throat. "Look, any truthful story that is going to explain the appearance of lions in frat jackets is going to be complicated. I realise that. But at the moment, I only care about one thing."

"What's that?" Nick asked hurriedly, seeing her corona flicker red through the rose. What the hell was she?

"Those were not just frat-boys. They _became_ something. I need to know I wasn't 'seeing things' Tell me I wasn't imagining it."

Nick looked from Livvy to Hank, whose expression simply said 'you know where I stand on this'. Nick met her gaze directly. "You weren't imagining it."

Hank nodded. "I've seen stuff too. It's a total freak-out moment, but you're not going nuts."

Her face relaxed a little, then a lot, her corona filtered to nothing, and then she seemed just grateful. "Thank you. Both."

Nick waited for her to press the point, but she seemed more concerned with getting herself together. He made the offer, at least. "It'll take me a while to explain what you saw."

"It can wait for a moment. I've got enough to process for a few minutes. Ok, let's look at your arm."

So near, yet so far? Frustrated, he wanted to get back to the point. "My arm's fine— did you know that you go pink when you're upset?"

"Most people do! Am I supposed to stay pale and interesting?"

"No – I mean, pink round the outside, like you've got a …halo. Or something. I wasn't imagining it." He watched Hank and Livvy exchanged incredulous looks then turn their incredulity back to him. "So it's ok for her to demand confirmation of lions in frat jackets, but not for me to….Ok, I'm shutting up."

"Weirdo. We're sorting your arm out now. Ok, look at Hank."

"Huh?"

Livvy looked up at Nick sternly as she pressed gently against his chest with one hand and curled her fingers under his tricep with the other. "You're not looking at Hank."

"Does he have to? It may be a Mars/Venus thing, but guys find enforced staring kind of weird."

"Fine! Both of you, look at the ceiling."

They did, mutually confused.

"Ok Nick, _now_ look at Hank."

"Why am I—AGGGHHH!" The little gap in his Nick's socket snapped shut with a sharp, wet snick and he leapt off the table like a scalded cat, lunging helplessly round the kitchen in a paindance until the shock of the relocation faded abruptly stopped and he realised that he could move the arm fully again. He leant back on the kitchen counter to overcome the brief moment of lightheadedness, puffing his way through it, then turned back to her with a shaky smile. "T-Thanks. What was with the… Hank-staring?"

"Anaesthetic."

Hank folded his arms smugly. "Staring at me has anaesthetic properties? Who knew? Maybe I should quit this cop-game and patent myself."

"Half of pain is anticipation. Confusion is the best neural block to anticipation. You've no room in your head for 'oh my God, this is _really_ going to hurt' if you're busy with 'why the hell am I staring at Hank?' Some emotions just can't co-exist in the same moment, like terror and boredom."

"I disagree with that," Hank muttered. "I'm scared shitless of the first quiz on Monday but also bored shitless by the personnel stuff I have to read to pass it."

Livvy patted him on the arm. "Take a copy of a Thomas Hardy novel with you and read it right before you go in, while everyone else is terrifying themselves with last-minute cramming. I recommend Tess of the D'Urbervilles, chapter 4. It's distressingly boring. It'll calm you right down."

"Right…." The doorbell rang and Hank checked through about four windows before satisfying himself that it was actually the take-out guy.

Nick tried to get his sweatshirt over his head and got unexpected help from Livvy, who yanked it off then brandished the wipes at him. "I can clean myself up!"

"I'd like dinner before 2014. You are _so _slow. I've never seen such hesitant dabbing. Hands on your head."

Nick obeyed, not entirely sure why, and gritted his teeth through all the stingy parts. She was quick – he had to give her that – and focussed. Lost in her own world. Actually, looking a little sad. "You alright? It sounds like you've had a rough time lately – all that stuff about… not knowing whether you've been imagining things or not."

"I misread someone very badly and I've questioned myself every day since. It shook my confidence."

"Want to share?"

"No." She cleared her throat and that little corona was back for a moment. "No _thanks_. I'll be fine – I just wasn't ready to…. I wasn't ready to be wrong again so soon. You know what we really need to talk about, though?"

"Warwick?"

"Yeah. For whatever reason, he's decided that you're the only person who understands the situation he's going through. Which is kind of sweet in a clingy-teenager kind of way, but he can't follow you around for the rest of your life. If we're lucky with interrogations tomorrow, it won't be an issue and we can get Jan to help us ship him off to this other college he likes, but if the other frat boys don't squeak about the hazing, we'll need to sort out appropriate protective custody. That doesn't involve your constant presence."

"True," Nick murmured. He slipped off the table and grabbed a clean teeshirt from his nightbag, slipping it on as Hank returned from the door with the Chinese, mulling over all the complications of concealing a sick Geier without him around to run interference on the stress-wogeing. "That's not going to be straightforward, though."

She laughed. "That's a bit of an understatement. His custodians would need to be pretty tolerant about him turning into a bird when he gets stressed, particularly since he sheds everywhere and gets sick afterwards. That side of things could come as a shocker."

Nick blinked and steeled himself for a long night. "Hank… how much caffeine do you have in the place?"

**X x X**

Sean withstood a good twenty minutes of soft-spoken but aggressively incisive interrogation from Jan until finally, with a large glass of Merlot in front of him and healed hands, he appeared a little more inclined to listen to him with his normal, patient expression rather than one that suggested that a swipe was imminent. As Sean worked backwards to his one-time working relationship with Kessler, his Lieutenant nodded and considered in all the right places, even though what he was hearing must have been anathema to his rigid moral code. Even Jan's little one looked disapproving, eyeing him sternly with tiny, dark green eyes. Definitely her father's daughter, Sean thought with a degree of amusement, and found his narrative trailing off as he realised that he was being challenged by a baby.

"Uh oh," Denny muttered. "I think we have a stare-off taking place!"

Carianne sat at Jan's hip, her forearms dangling over his forefinger and legs poking out onto his lap from under his pinkie. As Sean held her unwinking gaze, she pulled her legs up and pressed her toes together as if sensing genuine, serious competition and gearing herself up for it. She blinked first, of course, but it was a close-run thing and his eyes were watering.

"She's excellent," he conceded. "You must be very proud. How old is she?"

"Two months."

"A prodigy then, like her brother." The mood loosened slightly as Jan ruffled her hair lightly, Denny re-folded his legs on the corner of the table, and for the first time, Sean felt nervous of plunging on, not wanting to wreck the progress he'd made. "Kessler was working from a list, but she started making her own decisions about who was dangerous and who not, and saw reapers everywhere. She wouldn't be told. I spoke to her twice. I used subterfuge. I blackmailed her. She was picking off valuable Laufer informants in their own back yards while they put the bins out. Eventually I threatened Nick's life. She responded by killing two high-ranking Laufer members who I'd spent years grooming, positioning and supporting into critical intelligence positions."

"It would be wise, right now, for you to confirm that the threat on Nick's life was a bluff."

"Of course it was a bluff! Nick was a good cop. I thought it would make her listen. It was just emotional blackmail. But she'd been diagnosed terminally ill, by then." Sean took a deep breath. "I told myself that I was just… ending things a little early for her."

Denny scoffed. "So to prove that there weren't really reapers everywhere, you sent a reaper after her?"

"Hulda was sent by my brother, Eric. He'd run out of patience. I sent Adalind when she was already in hospital, in pain and with only days left until―"

"Don't try to turn this into a humanitarian exercise," Jan warned. "You killed her so that she couldn't tell Nick about you."

"Of course." What did they expect him to do? "I couldn't afford to have a new Grimm learn about the Verrat and wesen in general from her completely warped perspective. Could you imagine the carnage of having a new Grimm fuelled by new powers and a blood feud learning his 'God-given' duty from someone like Kessler? Couldn't let it happen. Nick has a conscience. I thought that before I tried any rash manoeuvres like telling him about me, I'd see whether he'd make his own decisions about who was dangerous and who not. And I was right. He has."

"Before you start congratulating yourself on your hindsight – explain something. When you realised that he was still acting as a cop, was still a good man and was still making good decisions, why not disclose yourself?"

"Because so long as he didn't know that I knew, I could manage him as a cop, not a Grimm. It kept him in line, and it enabled me to persuade my family that I could keep him under control." Sean worried about this aspect of coming clean. Managing him as a Grimm was going to be impossible. "It was the only way of keeping a foot in each camp and deflecting attacks on him."

Jan moved his little girl from his lap to his shoulder, where she yawned cavernously. "He spent nearly a year being continuously attacked for being a Grimm with one friend as back-up. He's been lucky to survive."

Sean looked at them in disbelief. Pair of mother hens. Had they actually forgotten that he was a Grimm? He tried to keep his voice even. "He is more than capable of looking after himself―"

"That's not the point," Jan cut in. "Nick's a selfless guy who's lost the critical part of his life – Juliette - that kept his sense of self-preservation in check and because his pain threshold levels have made him dangerously oblivious to harm, it's made him more dangerous for attackers to fight than ever. But a lot of it is about luck. As tough as he is, luck's not going to be on his side every time."

"I've tried to protect him. I've warned off assassins―"

Denny cut in. "But it's not just about assassins trying to lamp him, is it? It's about the everyday stuff he deals with as soon as suspects realise he's not just a cop. If you want to protect someone, you equip them to protect themselves. First bloody rule of combat survival. Take that Siegbarste Nick took on. If he'd had any kind of proper support or teaching from you, he'd have had a gift-loaded shotgun at the ready and the break-in would've ended after about ten seconds. It was a bit harsh for him to find out how to defend himself _after_ taking a complete pasting, wasn't it?"

Sean felt his frustration flare. "Do you really think I'm unaware of all the downsides of keeping him in the dark? I was busy being a Royal, using what influence I had. He was busy learning his trade from her trove of psychopathic volumes, banding Siegbarstes and Hexenbiests with the Devil. At what point would it ever have been safe for me to self-disclose?"

"So why now?" Jan asked mildly, giving him a chance to draw breath.

"Because the world is changing, I need to change with it… and Nick needs to know what he's up against."

Denny got to his feet. "That's the first thing you've said that I've had an iota of sympathy for. Right, I'll take Carianne up while you talk practicalities." He peeled the droopy tot out of her Dad's arms, gave Jan a chance to kiss her goodnight, and waved her forearm at them. "Say goodnight, Small. C'mon, now…"

Sean settled down, eyeing Jan's wine with jealousy as he finished the glass off and wishing he hadn't driven. He needed to stop feeling so defensive. He hated feeling defensive – it was just completely against the grain of his independence. He could understand – and respect – Jan's protective stance over Nick. It just grated at him that they didn't really grasp that it wasn't simply fear of Nick's response that had deferred the moment of him coming clean for so long. He wondered how long it would take Jan to realise that his position as Nick's intermediary boss would become untenable because of their mutual knowledge of each other's species. Putting Nick on 'light duties'? It would've made him laugh if it hadn't been so ridiculous. However hard Nick had tried to keep things normal, he was now a Grimm first and cop second, and they had to find a way of dealing with him on that basis. If Jan thought he could blunder through and treat him like a normal cop, he had a shock coming.

"You mentioned the murder of Laufer members and informants," Jan said eventually. "You worked with them?"

"No, I didn't. I did things my own way. But I was very silently supportive of what they were fighting against."

"Even as a Royal?"

Weird thing to say. Sean drummed his fingers on the table. "Especially as a Royal. Look – I've made cold decisions and done brutal things and slept well at night afterwards. But that doesn't mean that I want any part of a monarchy that rules on fear, purism and genocide. Because that's what the Verrat are after - total wesen control over humans with no grey areas. No me, no Denny."

"And your tactics now?"

Crunch time. "I'm crossing the floor. My involvement with the Laufer's about to become a little more concrete."

"How do you expect them to trust you?"

"I don't, initially. I just expect them to obey me."

Jan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"As of this afternoon, I've taken over the Western Seaboard operations. You'll find yourself deputising for me a lot more at work, if nothing else."

"And Dr Walter Maier's just accepted this, has he?"

Sean laughed mirthlessly. "The fact that you know exactly who their head is just shows me what a fantastically discreet operation they've managed. No, Dr Maier has been packed off to the world of pharmacology where he can stop acting like a wannabe Godfather and actually be of some use. If he wants to argue about it, he can whine to Remus."

Jan's hand paused, bottle neck on glass rim. "My Remus? Commandant van Maarten? Theo's _Godfather?"_

Sean smirked. It was childish, but it was the first time he'd ever managed to surprise his Lieutenant. Without choking him, that was. "Close, are you?"

"Remus is the head of…"

"Western and European operations."

Jan put the wine bottle down. "I think I might find something a bit stronger."

Sean watched Jan pour the equivalent of a good four fingers of Speyside Glen Ewan into a tumbler and down it in one go, and boggled. That much whiskey in one go would render him pretty much instantly unconscious. Jan refilled with only a slightly more moderate measure and limped back to the table, sitting heavily.

"Head of the Laufer?" he murmured wonderingly. "Good God, no wonder he delegated so much shit to me at Interpol. Talk about busy!" He took another long swig. "I'm curious… as to how you two got working together."

Sean tried to ease into the half-fib. "We clicked when Remus came to the states to extradite and escort Annalise back to the Netherlands."

Jan snorted. "Bullshit."

"Excuse me?"

"With respects, Sir, Remus has a certain style of recreational rudeness, whereas you have a certain style of carrying yourself like you have a stick up your arse. Don't tell me you 'clicked'."

Sean blinked at the directness. "Fine, we 'grated' into a position of mutual respect. We have common aims. And no, I'm not going to tell you about them."

"Last question. Presuming things go well with Nick – he doesn't murder you, the dust settles, you're able to work together, and so on – what do we get out of an alliance with you?"

"Better intelligence on dangerous cases, less exhausting secrecy." Sean played his trump card. "And a Grimm with better back-up."

"Well I approve of that," Denny said, rejoining them in the kitchen. "But how are you going to tell him? I don't recommend 'By the way, I slayed your aunt'."

Sean rolled his fists into balls under the table. "Of course I'm not going to do that."

"Wouldn't bloody put it past you given your earlier performance. I suggest sending him an email telling him that you need to tell him things about his aunt's death ― no more, no less ― and arrange to meet him in a well-lit public place, wearing lots of Kevlar. Take shades, too, because with your conscience in its current state, if he looks at you too hard, you'll be toast."

He wasn't sure whether Denny was actually joking or not.

"Email's your best option for the opening gambit, just to set the topic for discussion and commit yourself to it," Jan agreed. "You can't do that in person, not safely, but as far as I know, Nick has not yet mastered the art of Grimming someone down the broadband." He hiccupped. "God, I hope he doesn't learn how to do that."

"It'd be toast by post," Denny muttered, making Jan giggle into his whiskey glass.

Sean rolled his eyes. "I need to do it while he's still a juvenile Grimm."

"A _what_?"

"A pre-evolution Grimm."

"That'll be the second-puberty thing that you guys were explaining, yeah?" Denny chuckled. "Got to admit, 'evolution' has a little more dignity to it than second-puberty. What does he become at the end of it?"

"A Zauberen," Sean began to explain, "They're incredibly powerful…." but got drowned out by the giants banding stupid post-evolution titles back and forth.

"Grown-up Grimm?" Jan suggested. Denny chuckled and face-palmed, but also tacitly removed the glass of whiskey out of reach.

"Look! I came here to form a council of war, not get tag-teamed by Dastardly and Muttley!"

"Well off you sod, then! You can have your po-faced one-man council and email us the joyless minutes, and we can think about how to tell Nick what you've just explained to us. Still fancy going off in a huff? No, thought not."

"You have a week," Jan said, suddenly and apparently completely sober.

Sean gaped. "What?"

"There's never going to be a good moment, so you'll have to bite the bullet. I'll temporarily distract Andersen so that you get him alone for a while. You'll need to keep in touch – give me your phone." Jan took it and programmed his personal number into it, while Sean considered the difficult matter of Nick working with Andersen.

"That wasn't a wise pairing, Jan. She's got incredibly acute instincts for a non-Grimm. It won't take long for her to query his working methods, find out about wesen, find out what he really is―"

"Good." Jan handed his phone back. "He needs balance – she needs emotional rescue. Besides, she picks up on the same things as him anyway, albeit in a completely different form. He sees the secret beings lying beneath people, she sees the invisible connections lying between people. I'm sure they'll initially drive each other screaming up the walls, as their forefathers did, but they're sharing a precinct so they'll find out about each other eventually anyway."

Sean pocketed his phone. "If you're going to stick them together, I expect you to keep them in line."

"Don't get terse with me, Sir. _You_ hired the Allwissendin. I'm just trying to make the best of a difficult situation."

"The… what?"

Jan blinked at him. "Andersen - the Allwissendin. I thought that's why you recruited her? Because she's another breed of Intuitiv?"

Sean was irritated to see even Denny stare in sudden understanding and wished that someone would just explain.

"So Livvy Andersen is literally an… Oh my God! She is so rare!"

"Yep. I had my suspicions, but she pretty much confirmed it when I was talking to her about splitting her partnership with Hanna. She was very sweet-natured about him, given the way he's treated her. She said, and I quote 'there's still a bit of Prince in there, hidden under all that frog'."

"She is _so_ joining the federation."

"Don't start setting up the UFRS email accounts yet, Den. Let's see how she and Nick cope. They'll either be ripping each other's clothes off or each other's heads off by the time the week's up."

Sean was still trying to remember what an Allwissendin was, and had got as far as translating it as all-knowing, when Jan took pity and went to take a couple of books from a shelf in Theo's play area. He returned with two thin dog-eared Penguin hardbacks, his fingers hintingly close to the author names. Sean didn't need any help with 'Little Red Riding Hood' – it was pure sanitised Grimm. The second book was the little Mermaid, by Hans Christian _Andersen_.

He groaned inwardly, cursing himself for his stupidity. So now he had a Grimm… working with an Andersen. Fantastic. It was a very common name, he told himself. And he'd been distracted with other priorities. Jan's casualness about it infuriated him. "I think I have a headache coming on. If you knew what she was, why the _hell_ did you―"

"―Don't bark at me in my own home―"

"A headache, eh?" Denny cut in hurriedly, funnelling him towards the door. "What a shame. Go and have it somewhere else. Next time you want to pop by for a love-in, _don't_ piss off the Lion King, bring a decent beer and no gurning, alright? Good. We'll be in touch to see how Operation speak-to-Nick is going. Bye!"

Sean found himself herded out, but managed to get one foot in the door before Denny closed it. he spoke in an undertone. "Genuine question. Have you _ever_ seen Jan woge involuntarily?"

"Once. It wasn't pretty."

"What was he doing?"

"Telephone banking. Goodnight, Renard."

Well, that was useful information. Not. Sean rolled his eyes and trotted back down to his car just as his cell phone rang and swore as he looked at his home screen. While putting his number in, Jan had kindly changed the universal language settings to Dutch. Bastard. He took Remus' call fairly cheerfully and described how the conversation went as a whole, pleased with himself for leaving things on a relatively cordial footing with them – the Siegbarste especially – and for managing not to go off-script.

There was a long silence at the other end of the line. "Sean, that's just too irritating. I'm going to have to call you back."

He waited. Remus called back. "Shooting bins, or something?"

"I _wish_ I had some bins to shoot, I tell you. Alas, they were taken for cleaning this morning. You know….we have free courses on crisis management here at Interpol – including some specialist ones for socially inept senior officers. Shall I book you something?"

"I thought it went well, under the circumstances."

"You got punched by Jan and he set you deadline to talk to your Grimm. Yes, it went swimmingly, I think. Do me a favour? I'm coming over. I'll come give you the crisis course in person. I am going to hang up and book the seats myself, right now. Do NOT speak to your Grimm until I get there. Promise?"

"Sure." Sean grinned. A good result. Only severe irritation would've brought Remus back over the pond. He was actually looking forward to seeing him again – recreational rudeness and all.


	8. Nice getting to know you

**Hi all! I hope you continue to enjoy! Thanks for the encouraging reviews, favourites and follows, as ever. Very much appreciated! This chapter has a little 'down time' after the multi-reveals of 7, but shows the federation coming back together again slowly… Monroe and Rosalee making their reappearance really soon!**

**X x X**

The on-call doctor had come and gone, declaring Warwick to be 'highly stressed' and Livvy 'confused and stunned' – neither description moving Nick any further forward to a good night's sleep, since that's what he'd told the on-call referral coordinator in the first place. Next time he had a car full of casualties, he wouldn't bother asking them if they wanted to swing by the ED – he'd just do it anyway. He allowed himself a brief smile just imagining Monroe spluttering about how hypocritical that was.

He ran the tap in Hank's bathroom and stuck his head under it, trying to get himself alert enough for round two with Livvy. Draining wasn't the word. He was doing his best to explain about wesen (he'd even used the _word_, dammit), wogeing and the wesen's 'human covers' (he couldn't think of a better phrase for it, dammit!) that only he could see past unless wesen wanted to be seen. Her disbelieving look had been met with a 'he's right' nod from Hank. But the more open and detailed he became, the more fixedly determined she seemed to only gather information in tiny, manageable chunks that would actually help the case. Her complete lack of awe made him even wonder if she was hearing him properly most of the time. It was when she'd put her arm sympathetically around Warwick and asked if his tendency to turn into a vulture at a moment's notice had gotten significantly worse lately that Nick felt he had a choice between butting his head against the coffee table or drowning himself privately in Hank's bathroom. Drowning himself in the sink just seemed a little less painful.

He inspected his reflection in Hank's sepia-toned mirror. Even the warm backing shade behind the glass did him no favours – he looked like he and Hank usually looked anytime there was a case with a child involved – like a food-poisoned somnambulist. Crap, he needed sleep. If she wasn't going to play ball and absorb the complications of his everyday life as a cop/Grimm, then she could go the hell to bed, let him sleep, and witness further full woges on her own time without any back-up. Nick gripped the edge of the sink, letting his head drop down between his shoulders. Ok – maybe that was unfair. It was a lot to take in, she hadn't completely freaked out over the Lowen, and she was trying to stay professional in the face of severe weirdness. Hank was clearly impressed with her total calm, raising his 'wow' brow at her from time to time when she wasn't looking.

He sighed. It just seemed harsh that he was battling to explain his upside-down life to her in terms that would help her get through the case on a fully-informed basis, and she was batting off any kind of inquisition into her own brand of strangeness, denying that she was anything other than someone with really strong female intuition.

Bullshit. Juliette had strong female intuition, but she didn't light up pink like the Southlands 'Thai Tanic' eatery sign whenever she was mad or upset. But - on that score, he was reasonably convinced that Livvy didn't even know that she was doing it. Her 'You are nuts' expression had been completely genuine and he rightfully prided himself on picking up on lies, whether told by humans or wesen. And all this left him wondering why he felt so mad, because if he really scraped away at the initial layers of irritation, his rattled state of mind had nothing to do with Livvy.

It felt weird being back in Hank's bathroom. It felt like it'd been a while since he'd been here on social grounds, or even on work grounds. He couldn't wait for Hank to return to the precinct – whether as his partner, a Lieutenant, whatever. Hank kept him feeling 'normal'. As did Monroe. And Wu.

Nick sighed, realising he'd felt a little cut off lately. Hank had understandably gone temporarily underground so that he could study for his promotion. There was no way in hell he could be expected to follow a case through and then hit the books in the evening when his shift finished. Monroe, similarly, had implemented a 'favour filter' to minimise the stress in his life in the last few weeks before his and Rosalee's Blutbau was due, after which Nick was promised that he could plunge by all he liked, so long as he was prepared to carry out the full smelly range of Godfatherly duties when he showed up for wesen advice.

Nick grinned: he was looking forward to that – being called upon to help Monroe all the time when he got into a flap about baby-related whatever. It was the one thing he could do to reciprocate for the sheer amount of wesen support that he'd had and – in principle – continued to have, by phone and on email. Even Wu had been offered the Bronze Command post in the new Emergency-response incident room structure – responsible for coordinating officers on the ground in a crisis. It wouldn't move him out of the precinct (thank God), but might finally use the sharp brain hidden under the endless supply of snarky one-liners and remind people why he was a Sergeant in the first place – because he was a great guy in a crisis and a damn good cop.

No, he was pleased for his buddies. It was just that… seeing their lives plunge forward so suddenly, and all at the _same time_, amplified the scale of his personal back-step over the last couple of months. His own grand progression post-Juliette had been to move into a bachelor pad, where he'd had plenty of time alone to consider Theo's curious but sincere question: "When do you get to be Nick?" He'd examined it from a thousand angles since being off sick and still didn't know the answer.

He spritzed his face one last time and towelled off, sticking the soft flannel back into the holder. Was there such thing as a mid-Grimm crisis? He wished he could talk to his dad about this stuff. In fact – he wished he could talk to _anyone_ about this stuff. He just didn't know how to raise his complete lack of personal direction without sounding resentful of his friends' progress. He yanked the bathroom door open to find Hank on the other side, knuckles raised to knock.

"You alright? I was ready to send scuba divers down the pan after you."

Nick laughed, following Hank back out to the front room. "Sorry. I was wool-gathering."

"That was a big-ass pile of wool, Nick."

Nick pulled his shoulders back and prepared himself for the bomb-drop to give Livvy: _You saw those guys because they wanted to be seen. I see them all the time, because I'm a Grimm_. But there was no sign of Livvy. And she wasn't in the kitchen. She didn't smoke, so was unlikely to be skulking out back. He looked confusedly at Hank.

"Livvy's gone to bed."

"What?" He was aghast. "How the hell can she go to bed halfway through a detailed description of wesen wogeing tendencies?"

"I think you just answered your own question there. It's a heavy subject. Besides – you were in there a long time. Maybe she's just not hot on cliffhangers?"

"For... fuck's sake!" He was ready to kick a wall. "Fine! Round two in the morning, then." He perched on the arm of Warwick's armchair, where he was huddled into a ball, shivering, even under a blanket. He sighed. Now, there was a stressed-out kid. "You alright? Need to lie down?"

Warwick's face said 'yes' in a hundred desperate, white and sweaty ways, but he shook his head. "I'm fine."

So Nick leant over, picked him out of the armchair, and carried him to the box room.

"What are you _doing_?"

"Completely ignoring you and putting you to bed. It's not dignified, I know, but various friends have done it for me and they've been right. Call it 'paying it forward'."

"But Nick, I―"

"Look," Nick muttered, kicking the box room door open a little. "I appreciate that you're not happy about whiting out twice in one day and that you're doing your best to suck it all up, but if you're sick, you're sick. The stuff we need to discuss for the case can wait till tomorrow." He smiled wryly. "Frankly, I could do without the stress of you wogeing in the squad room from sleep deprivation."

"But there's something I need to tell you."

"It can wait." Nick set him down and bustled around for water for his bedside table.

"I can't sleep unless I tell you!"

Nick quite his ruthless Monroe-style tucking-in. "Yeah?"

"When I destroyed all my work, there was stuff already missing."

"What kind of stuff?"

Warwick fiddled with the edge of his quilt miserably. "Blood samples from different students. Different breeds. They were labelled – I hadn't stripped them down to plasma formation yet."

Nick tried to sound calmer than he felt. "Was it you collecting the samples? Under pressure?"

Warwick nodded miserably. "Yes to both. I volunteered at the bloodbank in the student's union. I'm the block first aider. I'm clumsy and caused accidents – small ones. It wasn't hard to do discreetly."

"And these samples were being used for…?"

"Nothing – from my research perspective. I had what I needed. It was Blake and Irvine giving me a list of students to collect from. I don't know why – it's not like you can just brew some wesen-changing potion out of blood, but then... they are morons. Or their parents are morons, whatever. I just…I just wanted to tell you that I'd been doing the collecting, pressure or not, before it came up as something that Detective Andersen kinda… got out of me. By accident."

That, Nick got. "Alright. Try to get some rest, ok?"

He left Warwick looking more peaceful and re-joined Hank in the front room. Hank's upraised brow asked 'trouble?' and Nick nodded, slumping his way over to the couch.

"He's been doing things to implicate himself in carrying out gruesome chores for the suspects. Suspects that he's terrified of. Nonetheless… I have no idea how I'm going to step through this one, procedurally."

"Feeling like the case is getting a little big for you?"

"Something like that." Nick sighed. Then noticed the rueful little smile on Hank's face. "What?"

"It strikes me that you're talking procedure, but thinking like a tame Grimm. If you were thinking like a cop, you'd remember what your Lieutenant is for. In a normal case with no known wesen, like we _routinely_ dealt with back in the day, you'd usually escalate at this point, right?"

Nick wiped the heels of his hands down his face. "Right." And he was right. Ignoring small details such as the fact that they'd had no lieutenant for a year before Jan, and had no choice but to go to the Captain. But yeah, Hank had a point.

"So do it. Escalate. Being able to take on this stuff is why Jan gets paid more than you." Hank gulped. "It's also why I'm scared shitless of these exams, man. What if I actually pass the damn things? I'm not sure I'll be any good at taking on other people's … stuff. I barely had a handle on my own stuff. How many wives? For crying out loud…"

"You'd be a great Lieutenant! You're smart. Strategic. Fair. Calm."

"I'm no Jan. He takes organisation and calm to a whole new level."

Nick laughed. "Believe me – he hasn't always been this 'zen'. I think he's had to adapt a lot to fatherhood. Smooth or not, his temper used to be a lot shorter." He gestured to the stack of study cards and notes on the table, wondering what kind of examining board thought they could reduce the complications of personnel matters down to multiple choice quiz papers. He picked the hefty book of staff protocols and brandished it. "Is this the one that's giving you the heebie jeebies?"

"Yeah. And everything that comes after it."

"Well let's get you through the exams, then you at least have the choice about what you want to do. Ready to be tested?"

"Never, man," Hank huffed miserably. "But since it's you – shoot."

Nick started on the sequence of discipline violation and IA referral rules, boggling at the detail and the number of rules that needed to be followed through. No wonder Hank was nervous. No wonder Jan was so heavy on the 'light duties'. He decided, halfway through chapter 4, that Lieutenancy was not for him. Ever. But he was pleased to see Hank's mood lift as he got one thing after another after another right, right, right. His partner's level of fear helped him put his static status quo into perspective: clearly he wasn't the only one with no idea of how to deal with what was ahead of him.

**X x X**

Nick had the worst case of the early morning stares he'd ever seen. Hank waved his hand in front of Nick's face, shook him a couple of times, then had to conclude that he was asleep with his eyes open. Sitting on his legs worked – Nick blinked indignantly, then yelped, then tried to bounce him off.

"What're you… ow! God!"

"You awake?"

"When did you get so heavy?"

"I ain't heavy, I'm your brother. Now get in the damn shower." Hank handed Nick a towel, hauled him up off the couch and watched him traipse unsteadily towards the bathroom. "Don't lock the door! If you're not out in five, I'm gonna come make sure you haven't drowned!"

"Is he not a morning person?" Livvy chirped, diving behind him to the kitchen. He followed to get himself a sandwich.

"Actually, he used to be annoyingly lively in the morning," Hank remembered. "It was me with the head full of the previous night's problems, him bouncing around first thing like he'd slept 14 hours straight." A little like you, Hank thought, then mentally slammed shutters on all four sides of the thought and added a roof in case she caught wind of it.

"I don't really get bouncy until mid-morning," she said suddenly, and Hank felt all the shutters disintegrate into nothing. Jeez, she was unnerving. And _hungry_. He watched while the contents of his kitchen – bacon, cheese, eggs, ketchup, disappeared into a doorstep sandwich. Then she reached for the jam.

"Ah… you like to mix it up, huh?"

"I need energy." She shrugged. "I don't know if you ever felt the same, but there are guys at that precinct who walk around with their own localised little rain clouds. They're pretty draining to be around. If I don't keep my sugar levels up, it really wears me down."

"Who we talking about here?" He was genuinely interested, now. It seemed to him that Livvy picked up not so much on wesen, or wesen beings, but moods. And vulnerabilities. Which would explain a reasonable cross-over with Nick's abilities, since wesen had a hell of a lot to hide, even if it had nothing to do with a crime.

"If you don't know who, I'm not saying. This is people's private feelings we're talking about here. I know you guys have this nutsy idea I'm a mind-reader, but there's a world of difference between surmising what someone's going to say, and blurting out how they feel about something."

"Well there's Hanna," Hank mused out loud. "He's walked around under his own tropical storm since his wife moved out with the timeshare guy."

Livvy spluttered on her toast. "Can you blame him? Come on! I can't think of a harsher way to be made to feel old and unattractive!"

Yeah, true, but they'd all suffered through Hanna's relationship breakdowns before, and there was usually a degree of ass-holery involved on his part. Really good cop – terrible, terrible husband. Hank didn't really get how she could defend him. He'd been a complete shit to her, taking out his entire hatred of all things young and attractive on his young and… frankly, attractive partner. He wondered what she made of Nick.

"You must've been relieved to be re-partnered," he ventured, reaching for the peanut butter.

"It's nice to have my head bitten off way less often," she agreed. "But I think I seriously irked him last night trying to stem off his wave of weird."

Hank sat opposite her at the counter and caught her eye seriously. "He was trying to be straight with you about something that is a big, difficult part of his life. His ex didn't know half this stuff and it cost him an engagement. It's a big deal for him to be this open. Just … do me a favour? Don't make my mistake. Be patient about how much he decides to hold back or disclose at any one time." He remembered the hurt expression on Nick's face trying to explain his reaction to Ryan. "Things are always more complicated for him than they look for us. Just… cut him some slack."

She had the grace to look a little abashed, and took her empty plate over to the dishwasher. "Sure."

Nick blundered shirtless and still half asleep from the bathroom to the box-room to give Warwick a shove and Hank stared in his wake, grabbing his cellphone to send a message to Monroe, Denny and Jan. The federation needed to reform, like _now. _'We need to talk about Nick', he thumbed out, and stowed his cell back in his pocket. He didn't know if Nick had even looked down while in the shower: all the gauze was still in place, but there wasn't a single sign of the kicking he'd taken in the carpark. Not one bitty little bruise.

**X x X**

If it hadn't been so bloody early when Bud dropped off Theo and Matty to drive Janie to the emergency room, he'd have been a bit more on top of things, but it didn't take long for Denny to find himself on the underside of a discussion about breakfast arrangements as he lifted Matty onto one of the kitchen chairs and watched Theo grab a load of cups and cutlery out of the drawers.

"Auntie Janie was sick _all_ night!" Theo reported. "She made a bugger of a noise."

"Wrong moment for that word," Denny said mildly, pointing at Matty's comparatively innocent 18-month-old ears. "Right. Who's for toast?"

"Pancakes, please."

Denny grimaced. "It's not a particularly low-maintenance breakfast, Theo. Can't we have something logistically less demanding, like the toast I offered only seconds ago?"

"Toast's boring. We'll help you make them!" Theo and Matty both looked up and gave him 'the eyes', eyelashes on full bat.

"Urrrh. Alright." Sucker, he thought darkly, getting the tablecloth and ingredients out. Then Carianne kicked off upstairs. Shit, outnumbered. He was just about to call up to Jan when he heard weary footsteps and a rumbling assurance from upstairs that he'd pick her up.

A minute later, Denny cursed himself for an absolute fool, because it only takes a minute for two children under four with flour at their disposal to create a snowy mountain range on the table top. The cloth was clean so he scooped most of it into his hands and recycled it back into the mixing bowl, where it didn't stay still because they were busy spooning it, transferring it from cup to cup like a potion and 'measuring' it. Theo looked as if he was about to pour water into the bowl when Denny lunged over and grabbed the cup.

"Whoa! That needs to be milk, not water. What are you doing?"

"We're doing science."

"Er, no. That's not science. That's a mess. Oh… Matty! Why?" He pulled Matty out of the flour bowl, which he'd randomly tipped himself into head-first, and carried him over to the sink to ruffle the worst of it out of his hair. "You getting in touch with your inner yeti, or what?"

Matty giggled. "Yeti!"

"There's always mess on Brainiac," Theo asserted, "and that's def-nitly science!"

"Yeti Yeti Yeti!"

"Fair point." Denny set Matty back down on the kitchen seat and rubbed him vigorously with a tea-towel, with negligible results. "But in science, mess at least starts with a theory."

"A thee-ery?"

"Yeah. A theory's like an idea that you test. You say to yourself, 'if I do this, then that will happen.' It's like a prediction, and you test it to see if you're right." Denny waved vaguely at Jan as he trotted down the stairs with Carianne and disappeared into the front room to pop her into her baby bouncer.

"Ok, my thee-ery is that if this egg goes on the floor, Daddy will be quite annoyed."

"Ah, he's not having the best week. I'd rather we didn't... Oh….Bollocks." Denny stepped over the yolky pile and grabbed a cloth from the sink. As he turned to clean up, Jan sauntered halfway into the kitchen and rocket-skiied across the rest of it, coming to an abrupt halt with his midriff hitting the bottom corner cabinets. Denny edged over gingerly. Jan's lip-biting suggested unpleasant levels of pain. "I was... just about to clean that up. Er... You alright, mate? Not um… overly slammed your parts?"

Jan breathed out shakily and eased himself back upright. "No, I would be striking a different... pose ... if that were the case. A foetal one. I got a handle right in the... Livvy. Christ." He turned slowly, a strained smile on his face. "Good morning, Theo. Why the egg?!"

"Are you quite annoyed?"

"Quite annoyed, yes, since you asked! That could've been a nasty accident if I'd been holding Carianne. And confused – why are you punching the air?"

"I'm doing science. Denny's been teaching me theories and it looks like I'm good at them."

"Oi! Don't pin that on me, fella! You went off the lesson plan!"

Denny cleaned up and made toast as an excuse to conceal his ill-concealed grin a bit better while father and son debated the value of learning versus the value of health and safety, versus the benefits of life-long Lego confiscation. Theo held his ground well, but Denny ushered both little blokes into the front room to eat their toast in front of Jake and the Neverland Pirates while he and Jan woke up a bit more. "Shall I give you a lift to the precinct after I've dropped the tots off?"

"Please, that'd be great. I was going to book a cab."

"That's good to hear." Den cleared his throat awkwardly. "Why the half-a-refinery-down-the-throat act last night? There's a reason we hadn't opened that bottle. Single malt plus cross Lowen equals bad blend." He couldn't resist it. "It makes you a bit catty."

Jan smiled wryly and sipped his tea. "Very droll. If I suffered from hangovers, I'd completely deserve one right now. Thank god for metabolism. I was thrown by the Remus-Laufer revelation. I was a Captain at Interpol, Den. He delegated to me – a lot. I just had this massive wave of paranoia that the rapid promotions were because Remus wanted a safe pair of hands behind him, rather than because I was the best guy for the job."

Denny blinked. "That was a tsunami, Jan, not a wave. You had half the bottle away before I made it back down the stairs."

"I know!" Jan stretched uneasily in his seat. "I've got it a little more in perspective, now. It took a while to remember that Remus had been out of the country through both my promotion boards, but even so… I've still got this great... nagging feeling like I need to prove myself all over again."

"In terms of what?"

"Managing Nick properly – Renard hasn't said anything, but he's pretty deprecating about it. Proving that Nick and Livvy can work together without all hell breaking loose, finding my feet in the squad….How the hell did that happen? It was _him_ on the back foot last night, coming to _us_ for back-up."

Denny sighed. As far as he was concerned, the more united Jan and Renard were, the better things would go for Nick. He was happy to add muscle to a situation where extra muscle was required, but didn't want anyone thinking they could come to him for any 'dark stuff' that needed doing. Like people being 'taken out of the equation'. Provided that he and Nick didn't end up trying to mangle each other, Renard would be good dark-stuff backup. He was used to it, at least, and there was no doubting that it would be needed from time to time. Not something Denny was remotely interested in. He'd done enough shit he wasn't happy about in the middle east to last him a lifetime. "Want my advice?"

"Please."

"Keep your head down, keep things looking professional and operational and you'll have done your bit – whatever happens between Nick and the Captain. There's _nothing_ either of us can do about it until one of them makes a move. Ideally a positive one." He finished his coffee and got up. "By the way – you _have _been proving yourself in the squad. Setting up incident command in two weeks? Come on! That shit normally takes months!"

Jan shot him a grateful smile and went into the front room to herd the kids away from the TV and to the wash basin while Denny sorted out Carianne, trying to wrestle her out of her pajamas without actually using any kind of force. She was in an unbending mood, which made things fiddly.

"Ah, Den?"

"Pickle, will you bend your bloody legs? See? That's a knee. You bend with it." Um… yeah?"

Jan reached over and tickled the bottom of her foot, which made her ping her entire leg backwards, cooperatively bent. "About _your_ revelation last night―"

Denny cringed slightly. "Yeah. About that… look, the heart attack was a combination of different things. Pre-existing infection, shrapnel shock, heat force – I'm not going to keel over just because I hear a loud bang. I was angry and the shock gave me licence to rant a bit. That's _all_."

Jan raised brows at him.

Denny sighed. "Honestly, look. If I wanted a quiet, peaceful life, would I have moved in with a baby, a 3-year-old, and their stealthy Dad? Really, now?"

Jan chuckled. "Excellent point, well made. Nonetheless… no more startling." He passed him a pair of shades and Denny chuckled to find that they were Theo's rear-view spy glasses.

"Bless you mate. A bit small, but I like the gesture!"

"And the rest of our postponed talk?"

"Tonight." Both their phones beeped at the same time and Denny read Hank's message: 'We need to talk about Nick'. He sighed. "Yours from Hank, too? Hell. We're going to have to make an appointment at this rate."

**X x X**

Livvy and Nick had the chance for a quiet catch-up while Warwick was collecting books from his hidey-hole at the library – not somewhere, he reassured them, that the other frat boys (if as involved as Irvine and Blake) were likely to follow them to. At the end of a bookcase, keeping him under close watch, Nick told her what Warwick had disclosed the previous night about collecting blood samples. She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. What would stop Irvine and Blake from implicating the kid if they had long sentences hanging over them for the hazing? Particularly after last night's attempt to snatch Warwick made a degree of guilt so blatantly obvious?

"Well obviously, we can't present their assault on you as part of the evidence to the DA," she muttered, and he nodded, but she felt waves of anxiety coming off him. "What's up – you worried about the Captain being in attendance during the procedural photography? I'm sure he'll delegate it."

"I'd feel better about Jan overseeing it," he mumbled. "He kind of… gets what's going on a little better than the Captain would."

"Is he a wessy-thing?"

"Wesen!"

"That's a yes, then."

Nick looked lost and tired. "I didn't say that. Or even think it. In fact, I went out of my way not to think it. I said he had a degree of understanding of what was going on with _me_. And I cannot offer any photographs for the assault!"

"Well, course not!" she spluttered. "What's the DA's office going to say? Probably something along the lines of 'this man has clearly been attacked by wild animals. This is very sad, but immaterial to the case'."

Nick laughed suddenly and wiped his hands down his face. "You know, it's a relief that you don't get it right every time. There are still _some_ secrets in this world."

She smiled at him thinly. She was well aware that there were plenty of secrets in the world – like blatant clues of other people's self-absorbed, amoral intentions that she completely failed to pick up on because she was too busy thinking the best of them. "I never said I _did _get it right all the time, Nick. Far from it. Now stop being a cryptic asshole and specify the problem!"

"There is no evidence, Livvy," he muttered. "It's all disappeared, since last night."

She stared. "What?"

"It's gone! Healed! Boom!" He startled her completely with a swift mid-library chest and stomach flash – flawless, and really rather nice, under less pressing circumstances - and for a moment, she really did feel for him. He had no clue what was going on. It was new to him, whatever it was. Confusion washed towards her in a hot grey cloud and she tried to pull him out of the middle of it to stay focussed.

"Ok – fine, no evidence of assault on you. So we don't record arrest injuries and focus instead on Warwick's testimony, the banking records, and whatever we can get out of the three blind mice, because something is scaring those guys shitless. I think they're involved, somehow, beyond the hazing."

Nick nodded, looking tired, but seeming more upbeat, like he had a way forward. He even managed to give her a crooked smile. "Thanks. Sorry, I was panicking."

Warwick hobbled towards them with the books he needed to keep him sane during another day at the precinct post-interview, and they made their way carefully out to the car. When they finally got to the carpark, she watched Nick guide Warwick into the lift and help him with all his books, and wondered if he was usually this protective towards those on his cases. She suspected, yes. But wondered how much time that left for _him_ in his own brain space. Something was taking up a great deal of it – and whatever was weighing him down was nothing to do with being a cop. Like her, he seemed to see through people (her included, some of the time), but the _only_ explanation she was aware of for what he could be - apart from an undiagnosed Allwissender - was a Grimm. Yeah, right.

Of course she knew about Grimms as an intellectual concept, but they didn't exist – just like Santa was there as a symbol of hope to bring cheer and the vague hope of sharing with the skint in a new coming year. According to her parents, the intuitives who had competed with the Andersens for the psychology and literature wars of the 19th century had died out. They were too rude to speak to, let alone have sex with, hence no descendents. Her mom explained that the brothers Grimm believed that they 'saw the beast within' – a highly overdramatic way of seeing a person with serious emotional problems – but then went to town showing what a dangerous character that beast was, rather than trying to understand it. There was no way Nick Burkhardt was a Grimm. He was real. He wasn't a dumb-ass. He wasn't even a _jerk_.

Livvy took Hank's seat - it would always feel like Hank's seat - unlocked her pedestal and got out her list of frat parent details. Wu caught her hopeful grin and flash of paper from across the squad room and loped over with a lazy smile of his own. He looked different, this morning. He did chipper very well most of the time, but it was usually laced with an edge of being slightly hard done by. Not so, now. And that vague, permanent background hum of personal disappointment had quietened. Something had changed for him – something good. Like an adventure. She was sure he'd tell her in his own time.

"And what can I do for you this morning?"

She grinned and talked him through Warwick's position, trying to be reasonably concise and circumspect about the kind of studies he'd been doing while explaining hers and Nick's suspicions about research funding being funnelled into the Presleys' accounts. She caught the sympathetic look Wu shot at the kid as Nick escorted him to the department shrink's room, and found it endearing.

"I'm going to talk to the Lieutenant about getting warrants for their banking details, along with those of the Warringtons and the Starks, but could you do me a favour? Could you get in touch with child services? Because I can't see the Presleys reuniting very soon and they're all likely to need protective custody at some point. I need to know how much flexibility we have within protocol for changing up Warwick's hiding places until charges have been brought. We may need to be a little… imaginative."

"Sure." Wu scratched his chin. "Is something about this case bugging you? You look like you didn't sleep too well."

"It's complicated," she managed, understating insanely. "I need to talk to Nick about finding a way to keep things simpler."

"Yeah, he'll look after you."

She raised a brow at him. "I know I'm the rookie of the piece, but what makes you think I need looking after?"

"I don't mean workwise." Ok. confusing. She watched with interest as Wu took Nick's seat and leant forward, talking quietly to her. "Look, it's not my place to say anything, but I'm going to do it anyway. I noticed you didn't take any compassionate leave after what happened with Graham. I just wanted to say... I know what it's like to almost get married. I felt punched out for like, a year. If you ever want to talk..."

Livvy felt her stomach clench. As kindly as it was meant, and as kind as Wu's face was, 'Graham' was supposed to be private. Meeting Wu's eyes suddenly gave a cause to that long-standing aura of sadness and self-sabotage that he emanated. So he'd been there. He understood, and she really liked him for it – she liked him even more for bravely sticking his neck out and asking her how she was, but it wasn't something she was ready to go into yet, with him or anyone. It'd only been a month.

"How did you know?"

"Uh... your one-to-one with Jan a few weeks back? No – he didn't say anything! God no. Your chat started quietly, but... " Wu pulled an awkward face. "You're not the quietest crier, and … there was a pretty big wet patch halfway down the shirt he hung up on the rack after you guys had finished. But hey, I was the only other one left in the squadroom at the time, so... "

"Thanks, Wu. It's nice to know you have my back." She flushed deeply. Jan had made the mistake of making her a cup of tea the day after her split, and at this tiny gesture of kindness, she'd soaked him for an hour. Not her finest hour. She was lucky they were complete gentlemen – Jan and Wu, both - she couldn't say the same of people she'd worked with while in uniform. "I appreciate it," she added, wanting to be graceful, but also wanting to shut the conversation down in case she had a replay on Wu's shoulder. Like the sweetheart he was, Wu took the hint, patting her shoulder lightly as he took her paperwork and walked off with it.

**X x X**

Sean sent Jan a brief message by text: "Things to arrange, in precinct at around eleven." He climbed out of his Audi, seeing Denny disappear into the back of Sears and trotted closely to keep him in sight. A moment later he got an email response from Jan, simply saying 'Until later then, Sir', and wondered why this required an email until he scrolled down and saw a link. He clicked and it led him to a 3G page showing him how to reset his cellphone to English. He grinned. He'd done it last night, but appreciated the olive branch. Fine, so now to find Denny. It wasn't hard – his head stuck out over the top of the soft toy display about fifty yards down on the left. Sean trotted down and approached slowly, not wanting to give any appearance of deliberate startling. Denny didn't see him at first, so he cleared his throat. Then added: "Good morning."

"Uh?" Denny pulled his head out of his jacket, where the baby was lodged, and looked over in surprise. "You stalking me?"

"No, I just followed you here."

"The two things are quite similar, you know? In the army, we used the terms 'follow, pursue, track, stalk' fairly interchangeably."

Sean sighed. "I'm sorry. Everything in my life is … covert. I actually came to apologise." And get to know you better, he thought. And ease this ridiculous deadline.

"For your fright-fest?"

"Yes." Sean cleared his throat. "I was... slightly using the element of surprise. Unnecessarily. I'm sorry." He held his hand out and Denny took it, slowly. "And there are other things which… are probably best said outside the store. In an adult conversation, as you insisted on so…vehemently… yesterday."

Denny nodded acknowledgement. "Fine. Give me ten minutes. You're not about to tell me who shot Bambi's mother, are you?"

"Initially, you'd probably prefer that I did."

"At least I'm warned, then." Denny progressed further down the aisle, sticking Christmas gear into his basket, musing quietly over his list. Then there was an appalling explosion of noise from Denny's jacket and Sean saw a pair of furious little fists drumming against Denny's chest. He swore quietly about certain people's inflexibility over feeding times, unstrapped her and ditched list and basket to grab a pre-fab milk bottle from his pocket. There was instant silence. Denny nodded with his head at a purple and red box on the second to top shelf. "Look, my hands are a bit full – do me a favour? Theo wanted that one - check out the warnings section on that particular present?"

Sean frowned. "Presents come with warnings?"

"Only kiddie ones. You know, five-plus, small parts, do not give to a trigger-happy child under eight – all that stuff."

Sean took the box down from the shelf and skimmed the packaging of the Fire-fighter Pete Training tower. "For three years and above – contains small items," he warned. Then snickered at the small print. "Burning building not included."

"Thank god for that!"

Sean found himself chuckling. "Are you sure you don't want the accessory? It's just what every happy family home needs at Christmas – a burning building. Good times!"

Denny looked surprised, but gave a fairly good natured laugh. "_No_ thanks!"

Sean took Denny's basket and list and after a few more vitals had been tracked down, they battled their way through the aisle queue, the till queue, and emerged into the carpark.

Denny jerked his head over to his SUV. "Come on then, if you're coming. Bear with me a moment while I fix her seat..."

Sean sat in the shotgun seat and waited for Denny to climb in front and close the door.

"So. What am I not going to like?"

No one could accuse Sean of not learning from experience. "First things first - Remus is flying over. He's asked me to hang off dealing with Nick until he arrives. In the circumstances, I'd appreciate you and Jan forgetting this deadline nonsense."

"The 'nonsense' was in the interests of getting a little momentum behind you dealing with the issue," Denny remarked stiffly, "which seems to be happening quite nicely. So we'll take timing as it comes. I'm rather pleased you've got some back-up of your own. Things might go smoother."

"And Jan will react – how?"

"The same, I should think." Denny gazed at him evenly. "He's not bloody-minded. He's just very protective of Nick."

"I've noticed that." Sean's cheek hadn't actually bruised, but still felt tender. "But has he noticed that I'm also protective of Nick? It'll be a challenge working with him if he's going to be the eternal big brother."

"Try a little patience. It's a situation that you're both going to have to feel your way through."

"That's fine," he steamed, feeling patronised. "I just don't want a supremacy battle in the office."

"I thought you'd sought me out to smooth things over? You're not going to get far doing that if you keep slating Jan to me. I've got a degree of sympathy for how difficult it is to live your life in secret, but _don't_ push that understanding."

Sean snapped a gaze sideways to find Denny looking back at him quite calmly, fully in control, very together. Very smart. "It's impossible, sometimes, to remember that you're Siegbarste."

"I could say the same of your Hexenbiest heritage. The apology was unexpectedly welcome, for example. But the same goes for Jan, too. He couldn't be less 'lowen' in most respects. He's not competitive, for starters. Does a man whose priority is 'supremacy' take a demotion to give his son a better life? His priority is his children. They're safe over here now and he'll work his way back up to Captaincy as the chance arises. He just wants a peaceful life."

Thinking about the wesen-wesen-Grimm line management chain back at the precinct almost made Sean laugh out loud where 'peace' was concerned. "Well, he's got his work cut out there. But there was something else I wanted to talk to you about. Look, there's a significant verrat presence in Portland, now. They're obvious and badly organised, but there are people being 'drafted in' to arrange them properly and clean them up just in the same way as I'm taking over the seaboard operations. I've got your back, should you ever need details of your past verified at a moment's notice, but… stay wary, Captain Grey."

Denny froze. For a long, cold half-minute, Sean wondered if this was the moment that Denny remembered that he was a Siegbarste and if he was about to feel that, painfully, in the captivity of the front seat of the car. The huge hands tightened around the wheel and then the blue eyes – pure military Grey – locked into his. They looked strangely calm.

"I haven't used or heard that name for quite some time, now. I would like to trust… that there is a good, virtuous reason for you having this information about me. Got that from Remus, did you?"

Sean nodded. "Call it a gesture of good faith. If you need any help accounting for particularly mysterious parts of your past, it's something I can do for you. Were you Laufer, in England?"

"No. I just owe them. Why didn't you out me last night?"

"I'm not cold for fun. It was obvious that Jan didn't know that much about your past. I saw his reaction to your 'heart attack' story."

Denny nodded. "Appreciate it. Thank you."

The relief on his face was palpable, which got Sean to wondering whether Denny had any idea that he was bound up with Jan in this permanent Champion role. If he was even aware of being a Champion, what a champion was... curiosity in the atmosphere of openness made him blurt. "So what is Jan, to you?"

"What, apart from the cause of many a wet dream?"

"That is really, _really_ not what I was―"

Denny burst out laughing. "Blushing, much? Serves you right! Ask an unwelcome question, get an unwelcome answer. He's my best mate, you eijit. There's allied, then there's nosy. Keep your beak out of some stuff, alright?"

Sean flushed, but knew he deserved that. "You have a talent for evasive manoeuvres."

"Should bloody think so, by now. Nelson's number one rule of battle – confusion to the enemy is golden. Anything else you want to ask, while you're prying?"

Actually, yes. "How do you move from black ops to being a primary school teacher?"

"Black ops? What the hell gave you that idea?"

"The two-year hole at the end of your army career. The lack of detail is usually down to time spent in the Special Boat or Air Services."

"Sadly, it's also often down to a monumental fuck-up by the MOD HR department. But – there's no mystery in the teaching thing. The Ministry of Defence had this pilot scheme where they'd match retired officers or vets to schools, and retrain them. We needed homes, order, hierarchy and discipline. The kids needed people who weren't shit scared of them and their gangs and would stick around all year to see how they got on. I enjoyed it." Denny grinned. "Got more than my fair share of apples on the desk. I enjoyed it, while it lasted."

"What happened?"

Denny folded his arms and bounced his eyebrows. "Let me tell you more about those wet dreams."

"Alright, alright, I'll drop it!" Sean threw his hands up, laughing. "Crude asshole!"

* * *

**A special thanks to three wonderful reviewers (and friends!) for giving me an encouraging kick up the bum in the nicest way possible after my massive writing/confidence block that suddenly popped up over 7. I think I've got over myself now, lol! Thank you! You know who you are…**

**Makoyi - thanks for tips on avoiding GS issues with Jan - he was already introduced in an earlier story, United Federation of Rare Species (don't know how early you started following) so there's a bit more backstory to his appearance here which may make it all make more sense. I think I'll repost my chapter 1 for this to explain that, to save confusion for future readers. Thanks for pointing out the risk otherwise! **


	9. Walking the thin blue line

**Ok folks – we're into the second half of the story now! The plot thickens….**

**Thanks so much for all the reviews, follows, and so on. I really hope you enjoy this chapter because it was tying me in knots and driving me nuts, lol. You know when you have a kink that you just can't iron? I had several. Got there in the end, though.**

**Ok – enough blithering from me… and back to the precinct!**

**X x X**

Nick left Warwick on the cot in the secure quiet room with his books, having taken the rest of his statement, and walked back to his desk to update the report-in-progress and send forensic guys around to the lab to see if they could pick up any partials or prints from anyone other than Warwick and the twitchy lab-tech he worked with. Michael, the lab-tech, was friends with the three Reinigen frat boys, which may or may not be significant in some way. But a tiny lead was better than no lead. Nick had started on all the standard questions to uncover any grounds for believing someone to be involved in corruption, fraud or bribery. But according to Warwick, Michael didn't display any significant life-style changes like random wealth, appear any more withdrawn than usual, and wasn't in a position to be receiving offers of promotion or holiday – let alone refuse them to stay close to his work.

So Nick tried a few hints from his more specific list of paranoid behaviour indicators, some of which Warwick recognised immediately: reluctance to share work, or jobshare; excessive attention to personal security in the workplace; unwillingness to train other lab-techs coming in for their induction – at least not in his _own_ work area. Michael Sansom sounded like someone he needed to get hold of quickly to see if Irvine Stark or Blake Warrington had been putting him under any kind of pressure as well as Warwick.

Nick saw Livvy emerge from the Captain's room, talking irritably to the photography guy, who was carrying a folder holding legal-sized glossy photos of her facial bruising, and a nasty shot of a boot on her midriff that she hadn't mentioned last night or this morning. He winced at the size and purpleness of it. So she'd put herself up for arrest injury photography instead of him, which couldn't have been dignified for her. "You ok?"

"No, quite honestly. I have been leched while maroon and boot-printed." She stuck a new plaster on her face and slumped into Hank's seat. "I gotta call Warwick's Mom back. She's left an annoying number of threatening messages about withholding access to her son."

"Wave if you need help. She sounds like hard work." Nick made his own call – to the Portland forensics team - directing them over to Warwick's lab on campus to find any indication of unauthorised presence in the labs. He'd join them in a little while – see if he could track down Sansom while he was about it. He stretched and sighed, still not knowing what he was going to do about Warwick's custody or confessions of collecting blood samples. Hell. He took Hank's advice to 'make use of his Lieutenant', and walked over to Jan, who had reclaimed his usual, impeccably tidy desk over by the window. "Can I have a word?"

Jan shot him a quick smile that didn't quite go to his eyes, finished off slamming an email into his keyboard and stood. "Yes, we need to talk. Walk with me."

"Limp with you, more like," Nick commented, but still had to dash after Jan, who even when favouring his left leg was incredibly fast, and clearly pissed about something. "Hey – you alright?"

"No!"

Nick blinked. Maybe having no arrest photography screwed up more than he'd thought. "Is it me?"

"No, no… not you. Sorry, Nick. Bad morning. Irvine and Blake have lawyered up – or rather, their parents have. That's to be expected. But they're being sneaky. First thing this morning, I got an email from internal affairs letting me know that suspicions had been raised about my lifestyle."

"What about it?" Nick was bemused.

"The car, the expensive clothes, and so on – not affordable on a Lieutenant's salary, ja, ja ja…. They want to check my bank details and interview me. The bank details – no problem. I'm a trust fund brat – so sue me. The interview? They can go screw themselves. I can't believe they're moving so fast on suspect tip!" All of a sudden, Nick didn't relish escalating the Warwick-blood-taking issue with him. "I'm just letting you know now in case I need at any point to temporarily surrender my badge."

"They can't do that!"

"Yes they can – if I refuse to talk to them. Which I won't, probably. Refuse, that is." Jan ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just ranting it out of my system while I can. Renard and I are meeting the area commandant later: standard catch-up. I need to keep my cool. Thing is, Nick, I had to surrender my badge at Interpol, too, while Annalise's brothers were getting tied up in raids. But even if you're exonerated, it stays in your records that you've been looked into. Twice, now. Godverdomme."

"Renard will back you, won't he?"

Jan smiled wearily. "Yes, I'm pretty sure he will. But still. What can I help you with?"

He pulled a face. "I'd feel like a jerk giving you my stuff, now."

"Come on, Nick. Take my mind off things. Give me some news."

Nick set out all the case updates and the problems: Warwick's persistent parents; his confession; the potential lead on Mike Sansom; the difficulties of his ongoing protective custody arrangements. "… the state he's in, we would normally put someone under hospital watch, but we can't with someone who 'turns into a vulture at a moment's notice', as Livvy so succinctly put it."

Jan dipped his face in his hands and laughed helplessly. "That's godawful news! Go away and get me some better news!"

"I wish I could!"

"Agh! Ok -first issue, first. I'll talk to the Captain about custody arrangements. Leave that one with me."

"How you going to swing it?"

"That's my problem. Second issue – Livvy. Did she actually see Warwick shift, or did she come to one of her alarming, omni-directional conclusions?"

Nick snorted. "The latter. She called it a process of deduction. And female intuition. She wouldn't admit that it was any more than that, even after I'd tried explaining the concept of wesen to her."

"That's brave! So… does she know you're a Grimm?"

"If she does, it's not from me. I went to the bathroom and she'd gone to bed just as I was about to bare my soul."

"Nothing like a captive audience, is there?" Jan murmured, and they chuckled ruefully. "How do you get on, on the whole?"

"Well, she's basically _nice_, but…" Nick sighed. "It's hard work, Jan. Not only is she scary-honest about all her own thoughts, she's also scarily honest about mine, which completely freaks me out, because a lot of them are…Grimm. And she has no brain-mouth filter! It's like it was removed at birth, or something. And she glows pink when she's mad or upset. Jan! What the hell is she?"

"I'm sure she's an Allwissendin, but it sounds like she's being very cagey about it."

Nick felt a bit blindsided. He'd intended that as a rhetorical question. "A what? So you know she's something unusual? You knew that _before_ pairing us up?"

"The only thing I was positive of was that she was some kind of Intuitiv – like you. I don't need grief from you on this as well as Renard, alright?"

Nick frowned. "Why would Renard give you grief?"

"Lack of… consultation." Jan looked away, flushed. "Look - I was thinking about _both_ your needs when partnering you. Even Hank approves of her, so maybe it's just a case of refining the way that you deal with each other."

Hank approved? "He's called you?"

"He left a brutal voicemail about your battered state last night."

Nick flinched. Not fair for Jan to get the sharp end of that. "Do I need to speak to him?"

"No, we've spoken. We're fine. I've invited him, Monroe and Rosalee for dinner. I'd like you to come too, and stay over. We can pick Monroe's brains about Livvy. Besides, I don't want to test the security of your flat yet."

"Oh that sounds good. In fact, it sounds like home. But what about Warwick? And protective custody?"

"Warwick stays with us too. Like I said, I'll speak to the Captain. Don't worry. Besides," Jan chuckled, "how much more protection do you want than three cops, a Blutbad, and Denny?"

Nick grinned. He wouldn't go up against Denny as Denny, let alone as a Siegbarste. "And Livvy?"

"She's more than welcome – but I'll leave that invite for you to extend."

"Thanks." Relief. "God knows what terms we're going to be on by the end of the day."

"Good ones, please. Set the example, etcetera." Jan turned in the stairwell. "Incidentally, as her older, wiser partner, it's your job to help her develop that missing brain-mouth filter before she starts having… 'career-limiting conversations' with humourless senior officers. Teach her please, Nick."

Nick stared as Jan limped off back down the stairs. It sounded like a very, very tall order.

**X x X**

Having scraped together the mental armour to call Anita Presley back, it appeared that Warwick's mom had made herself temporarily unavailable, so Livvy left a message to say she'd tried to return her call. Then followed up the warrants with the DA's office. They were still 'thinking about them'. Nick had disappeared somewhere with the Lieutenant. In the hiatus of awaiting Mrs Presley's return call, she re-read her email exchange with her mom, wondering where to go next with it.

**Hey mom. You ok? Do I glow pink when I'm mad/sad?**

_Hi Darling. Am fine. Thanks for cursory pleasantry before diving into taxing question. Yes, you do._

_You also blush terribly, if that was your intended question._

**It wasn't. Why did you never tell me about pink glow?**

_I'm the only one that can see it, so there seemed no point in giving you a complex about it._

_But since you now know, you must have run into another Andersen?_

**Maybe. New partner at work called Nick.**

_Is he cute?_

**Yes. But, like I said, my partner. Not going there.**

_What happened to huge, charming, stunning Lieutenant? (looked him up – OMG!)_

**Still stunning… etc – now my boss. Not going there, either.**

_Does he (partner) go blue when you make him mad?_

**He's a cop, not a Smurf. And why assume I've made him mad?**

_You're an Andersen, darling. If you haven't maddened him by now, it's because you've been unconscious._

**Thanks! Not. And no, he does not noticeably go blue when mad. **

There had been a long, ten minute pause before her Mom's response came back: _He's not an Allwissender. He's the other thing. STAY AWAY FROM HIM. Have a client now, will explain later._

The curtness took Livvy aback. Her mom wasn't much one for barking direct orders. Not that she could exactly obey it, anyway. How the hell was she supposed to stay away from Nick? Her desk phone rang and she girded her loins to speak to Mrs Presley, but it was the DA's office, giving her permission to subpoena the Presley/Warrington/Stark bank records. She thanked them and hung up. At least that was some good news to give Nick.

But there was something missing. There was a big gap in her understanding, Andersen-wise, and it clicked in her head what it was. She didn't know about the glow, because she'd never seen it. She texted her mom again.

**What colour do you go? And why have I never seen it?**

_Pink, like you. And you have seen it. But you were 14, blind drunk and covered in hockey players. Was really, really mad that time – not even maturity could cover it. Have client. Later!_

She rolled her eyes and rammed her phone back into the seat pocket of her pants. So male Andersens turned blue? If they were such an incredibly rare people, how did her mom know this? Her Dad was pure basic human. Ok, not so basic – a clever, kind man with the patience of a hundred assorted saints. But not an Andersen. And the whole pink/blue glow thing? She'd heard the phrase 'nature is sexist' but that was just ridiculous_. STAY AWAY FROM HIM_. The starkness of that troubled her, so she dealt with it in the same way as she dealt with everything that temporarily threw her – she distracted herself until she had brain-space to deal with it. She went looking for Wu to ask ever-so-nicely if he would drop over to the DA's office for her to pick up the warrants. She was anxious to call back those three mousy frat boys with the gaze-avoidance issues. They didn't seem so much to be keeping a secret as struggling with one and needed a heavy dose of the guilts to draw them out.

At the end of the corridor, Wu was deep in animated conversation with their new Silver Commander, who was today dressed in his more usual uniform of dark blonde stubble, leather jacket, jeans, boots, smart shirt and baby. Baby was facing forwards for once, playing with the tip of Wu's finger while they chatted. Clearly the little one had decided that, as nice as her perpetual snuggling view was, there was more to be seen in the galaxy than Denny's chest. Livvy smiled. Good for her. She walked down towards them, hoping to catch Wu's eye at a natural break in the conversation, when Gerry Hanna burst out of the old computer room off the corridor – now the Incident Group Resolution and Operations Planning Executive – and waved them both in. Wu and Denny followed, trying to look stern and purposeful as they passed the IGROPE sign on the door. Ok, so she'd come back to Wu.

Besides, Nick had reappeared down the stairs with Jan, who stepped swiftly and graciously behind a Cabinet to let her pass. Nick looked a lot better than he'd done first thing – still dark-eyed, but not lost. She beetled towards him, hoping to charm him into trying out her guilt-tactics with the mousy frat boys. So, he wasn't an Allwissender. He was the other thing. She decided just to deal with him in terms of him being Nick and try to keep her promise to Hank to be patient. Even if Nick did think a bit slow, sometimes.

**X x X**

Sean's cell rang pretty much as soon as he got into the office, and he closed the door to take the call over by his window. "Renard."

"Morning Sean! Flights are booked – I'll be at Portland International at eleven tonight."

"Shall I pick you up?"

"Ach ja, that would be _great_. I'm going to be so tired by the time I get to you."

"We can debrief once we get to your hotel," Sean said, and realised that he'd committed yet another Remus mis-step from the gale-force sigh at the other end of the line. "What?"

"Sean, as much as I appreciate your kind offer to keep me awake unnecessarily…"

"Fine, fine… I'll pick you up anyway and we'll talk over breakfast tomorrow. Hang on one moment…" Sean turned at Jan's polite knock and waved him into the office. "Email me your hotel details and I'll put them in the satnav." He hung up and pointed Jan to the seat. He was about to tell him that he'd received a call from the IA on his way in when his phone rang again. Remus, again. "Yes?"

"Have a good day, goodbye, or bye. This is how normal people end a conversation, just so you know. Bye!"

Sean shook his head slightly and returned his attention to Jan, who was calm but clearly shaken by this IA tip-off. "Your email this morning from IA - I spoke to someone on the way in. They're aware that it's a malicious referral and that I have no personal concerns. They still want to talk to you as a formality, but I've made it very clear that this will be at your convenience, not theirs." Investigations burned. He knew that from experience. Sean smiled slightly at the open wave of relief washing over his Lieutenant. "I also pointed out that your 'expensive dressing' was flimsy evidence. Inexpensive dressing is impossible at six-foot-five, let alone six-ten."

"Thank you. Really. Especially after…. well." Jan offered his hand, and his eyes meant it. Sean shook and wondered, especially having spoken to Denny, why he'd become so convinced that there was going to be some big supremacy battle. Possibly, he realised, because he'd been raised to expect them. When Jan got talking again, he sounded hoarse. "Can we go over the Presley case? It's wesen-mired, I'm sorry to say, and Nick's somewhat welded in the middle of it with―"

A shout from the corridor made them both stand and march out of the office, to see Nick firmly directing a furious, under-fed woman in her forties into Interrogation 2. The woman woged Geier as she was steered in, Nick remaining firmly and sensibly behind her to evade eyecontact and a Grimm panic incident in the squadroom. Livvy followed them in and closed the door calmly behind her.

"I want to see how they deal with this," Sean murmured. "Let's carry on our talk in the observation room."

"I'd like to check on Warwick, first. His mother was loud. He may be distressed."

Sean nodded and let himself into the side room, standing by the one-way and switching the mike on. Grimm + Andersen versus Geier. He was glad Nick had chosen the sound-proofed room.

: : : : :

"You can't keep me from seeing my son."

Nick drummed his fingertips calmly on the tabletop. He avoided looking directly at Anita Presley for the time being, because he was furious. She had to know the effect that stress had on her son, but her attitude was all me-me-me. He'd be damned if he'd release Warwick into the 'care' of people whose concern for him seemed to begin and conclude with his contribution to the household scientific income. He tried out his new trick of feigning eye-contact without encouraging a woge: focussing on her eyebrows. He was determined to play this one out as a cop, if he could, going back into his 'Special Victims Unit' mode learnt from Jan in his first detective post. Livvy sat quietly.

"Did you even hear me? I said you can't―"

"I'm afraid you'll find we can. Your son was subjected to an abduction-assault last night, perpetrated by individuals who have been trying to influence the nature of his scientific work, which has deviated significantly from his approved dissertation plan, and which has involved taking blood samples without consent. We have reason to believe that you, and your husband, have received funds from these individuals and are therefore connected by proxy to the risk to your son. Warrants to subpoena your bank records have been granted. So, yes, we _can_ keep you from your son. Until it proves safe to return him home, he remains the ward of this precinct and the court."

Mrs Presley stared at him long and hard, looking pale and twitchy. Also stressed – she clearly hadn't been eating properly for a while, from the shallows under her cheekbones. She appeared to recognise a brick wall when she saw one, and sighed. "What do I need to do to see him?"

"Cooperate," Nick said. "Tell us who's paying for Warwick to change his study direction."

"Noone's paying for him to do anything, but us!"

She was lying. At least about no-one giving them money. Livvy caught his eye and nodded.

Nick leant forward. "Warwick's grant covers a third of his expenses. You didn't send him to Portland state on morticians' salaries. Talk to us. Family protection is the only way to go, here."

"I can't do that. There are… c-complications. I need to speak to him. About how he'd feel about me cooperating." She now looked anxious. It was pretty obvious to him that she wanted to get various elements of the family 'story' straight before putting anything on record. He backed off a little, keen to avoid a stress-woge and a Grimm-outing.

"You need to find out how much Warwick knows about your income sources before you start confessing to anything," Livvy corrected mildly. "That's not the same thing."

"People he cares about would get in trouble! I need to know how he'll react before I say anything!"

Nick felt beyond exasperated and stared at the ceiling, firmly reining in the Grimm. Not once had the woman even asked how her son was. "It's a criminal matter, Mrs Presley. Your anxieties have to come second to his health, and his safety."

"Which you don't seem to give a damn about, incidentally," Livvy added, splashing his thoughts through the air yet again, and then Mrs Presley woged. There was a cold, white moment as he caught the full glare of her green irises around the pool of black dread, then she threw her chair backwards and pinned herself to the wall, bony, blue, Geier and terrorised. He felt like sighing, quite honestly.

"Grimm!"

"Separation from your child isn't going to be pleasant―" Livvy began, but he put his hand on her arm.

"She's talking about me."

"I realise _that, _Nick, people don't usually combine a terrified leap out of a chair with a one-emmed 'grim', do they? Usually with more of a scream, or a swearword, or something. No, she's definitely calling you a Grimm. I was just trying to side-step the whole Grimm thing and stick to the point."

Nick gaped, having no idea immediately of what to say, or how to feel. Relief and disbelief jostled for position, then incredulity shot in out of left field and hogged prime spot. "You …actually know about Grimms?"

"I know four lines of information in an old Andersen's diary about Grimms. That's it. I didn't think you… existed. Anymore." She looked back from him to Mrs Presley, who was still ridiculously quaking against the back wall of interrogation 2, even though he'd made no move to stand, beat, threaten or murder her. "Do you always get this reaction?"

"Pretty much… invariably."

Livvy's face suddenly grew very sympathetic. "It must get very old, very quickly."

"You don't know the half of it."

"You can tell me the other half of it later," she muttered, and turned to glare at Mrs Presley, who then demanded to know what _she _was. "_What_ am I? I'm _Detective_ Olivia Andersen, my partner is _Detective_ Nicholas Burkhardt, and we are interviewing you as a person under suspicion of receiving illicit payments and potentially – depending on our mood – wilful child neglect. Nonetheless, he is _not_ going to kill you. We're in a police precinct. I'm sure people would notice."

"You're not just detectives!"

"So it seems. But you're going to react as if we are, we're going to try to do _our_ job as if you're not a hysterical fool, and you're going to remember that there may be serious jailtime involved if you don't start cooperating. Now, sit down and get a grip."

Even Nick blinked at her tone, but that was… helpful. In a way. It was just helpful enough to counteract his irritation at her previous extreme unhelpfulness of creating the situation where he was outed as a Grimm to the Presleys. Of course Mrs Presley would tell her husband about it. She started cooperating, but only in theory. Most of the time she gave only stony nods for answers, and the closest they came to an admission of anything financial taking place was of her husband accepting mandated payments from 'industry colleagues' for a special fund he'd set up – charitably – to look into cures for complex illnesses. They would have to let her go after this. Nick steamed. They didn't have sufficient grounds for a formal arrest, even though she was lying out of her ass, and they wouldn't do until they'd gone through their business and private books.

Eventually Nick slid his card over the table, stood, and told her to go. "Call me when you actually are ready to talk to me. You'll be back here tomorrow afternoon anyway to discuss our forensic auditor's findings on your accounts. No help, no seeing Warwick."

Mrs Presley glared up at him, desperate. "Whatever you two think… I _do _love my son. I'm just not… good at it. When it came down to it, I wasn't ready to put everything in my life to one side. He was such hard work. So bright." She fiddled with her collar. "But I do love him, in my way."

Yeah, Nick thought, but there was more to providing for a child than loving them. He didn't think Mrs Presley was equipped to deal with someone like Warwick. Ever. He leant forward to tell her that love alone wouldn't swing the deal and that―

"Well, that's not enough. It doesn't entitle you to be his parent," Livvy said for him. "Child services will make their own case, but for now, you seeing him is not going to help his physical state. We do not want him exploding in a ball of feathers in the cot room."

Mrs Presley snatched up her bag and stormed out.

Nick breathed out slowly to release his irritation before speaking. Livvy was very good at what she did, but there had to be ground rules. Like her being consistent: if talking like a cop, do not refer to exploding balls of feathers. Like allowing him to have some thoughts of his own, voiced exclusively by him.

"Livvy, a quick word?"

She smiled shyly at him. "We've got to sort out our interrogation style, right?"

"Among other things." There were so many aspects of her that he was still struggling to get his head around, like her complete inflappability and axe-head bluntness. "Look, I-"

"I know my communication style takes a little getting used to, but-"

"First request," he cut in, beyond frustrated, "Could you _please_ not recite the contents of my brain?"

"I do not!"

"You do! You pretty much say _exactly_ what I'm only halfway through thinking!"

"That's not the same as reciting the contents of your brain. You're predictable, which I can't help, and we tend to come to the same conclusions! Isn't it better that we're both talking off the same page?"

"Even so, I'd like to occasionally finish thinking before putting my thoughts into―"

"But it takes so long!"

"And quit interrupting!"

"Ok… So, you don't like me interrupting you when... you're not talking?"

"No, I don't like it!" he barked, then retrospectively heard what she'd said. His head felt like tangled wool. "No, I mean…. I mean…"

"_I_ have a request."

Yeah. Of course she did. He smiled thinly. "What's that?"

"Speed up the contents of your brain."

Nick spluttered. "Are you saying I'm _dumb_?"

"No…. I'm not saying you're dumb, actually you're really smart… for a Grimm―"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"―but there are these great big dustball-bouncing pauses between you thinking and you speaking, which―"

"Livvy! They are _not_ big pauses! They're normal!" She looked startled and he realised how much he'd raised his voice. He dropped it down a little. "It's called a brain-mouth filter. I don't, and can't, say the first thing that pops into my head. This is because my first thought is often a Grimm thought, like 'Oh shit, you're a Geier!' rather than a cop thought, like 'where's my back-up?'. Being a Grimm can be dangerous for me, Livvy! You saw her reaction – others have tried to kill me on principle."

"What's so bad about being a Grimm? Apart from being a little…slow?"

"I'm not slow!" God, it was a good job he had plenty of hair. He was sure some of it was going to come out in a minute. "There's a lot more to it that you would ever believe. Slow…is that what it said in your four lines of diary?"

She nodded apologetically. "Paranoid, emotionally stunted and intellectually-challenged. Thus, extinct."

"You didn't need to tell me that."

"You just asked me!"

Nick put his hands on her shoulders, trying to calm things down a little. "More than most people, I need to watch what I say. You maybe don't have to do that, but you _do_ need to learn to hold back a little on what you're thinking, even if it _is_ the same as what you think I'm thinking."

She looked irritated for all of ten seconds, but didn't glow. So, not mad. She was thinking, without speaking. Maybe, ideally, starting her filter process, and picking up on the salient point in hand. Eventually she commented. "I'm not surprised you guys are paranoid and emotionally stunted when people react to you like that."

Then again, maybe not.

: : : : :

Sean leant over to Jan slightly, who was watching the shouting match play out through a gap in his fingers. "I have my money on heads coming off by the end of the week, rather than clothes. It's just my humble view as Captain."

"Teething problems."

He smirked. "Those are big teeth, Jan. Shall we split them up for a little while? Give them some breathing space?"

"They need to find a way to make this work," Jan insisted. "They're both adults. I'm sure they'll find some common operating ground."

Sean raised his brows. "I admire an optimist. We'll see how this goes. But I'm glad you brought me into it – it's complicated. You need to keep a close eye on Warrington."

"John Warrington, or Blake Warrington?"

"Both. I'll interview the frat boys – I'm still an unknown quantity to them and their parents, whereas you and Nick have disclosed yourselves. But Warrington, at least according to Maier's intel, is a nasty SOB. He actually manufactures Gift, among many other things."

Sean mused on that. It was pretty obvious what Jan thought of gift-production through the tension in his folded arms, but it wasn't something he'd ever had a problem with… until he met Denny Miller. But people had spent months surprising him and the fact of a person's biology barely had any interest for him anymore by way of an indicator of character. He'd seen a Hexenbiest grow more evil when reduced to human and conversely, a certain red-headed human who had become as secretive and elusive as wesen; he'd discussed life and the cosmos with a _highly_ intelligent half-Siegbarste; and he was managing a compassionate, modest Koninglowen… and a cheeky Grimm.

He still hadn't quite forgiven his detective for his stunt a few months back, turning up in the office without anti-pheromone pills, then flustering him into giving annual leave at short notice by making suggestive remarks about sliding desk drawers in and out. Not his finest hour, almost knocking himself out with his own under-desk pedestal. He thought he might keep the recording of the post-interrogation slanging match he was now watching and play it repeatedly on fast forward – watching Grimm versus Andersen throwing their arms around in frustration. He might even play that in the squadroom, the chipmunk voices obscuring their secret. That would feel like good pedestal revenge.

He realised that he was almost smirking. "Anyway – watch Warrington in particular. Stark's an unknown quantity, apart from his connection to Warrington. And as for your request to take protective custody of Warwick – yes. I can't see we have much choice. But I'll call Dr Zimmermann tomorrow, see if she is in a position to help keep him company for a few days away from the precinct. If anyone's good at hiding, it's her." A discreet hippopotamus, he mentally added to his list of unlikely species-character combinations.

"Hilde 'the Chemist' Zimmermann?"

Sean gritted his teeth. "This is the state that Maier left things in, Jan. Even the Laufer informants in this operation have widely-known nicknames. The only reason I managed to coax her out of retirement was because I told her that Maier had been fired. My one consolation is that the current Verrat set up – for now – is even worse than that of the Laufer. If Warrington, Presley and co really think that they're going to turn themselves into powerful creatures with some sort of drug…. I don't think it will be too difficult to get an edge on them."

"How did you know where to find her?"

"Because I've been funding her for fifteen years. We were doing fine until Maier started 'hiding' her."

Jan shot him an incredulous sideways look. "I'm… surprised, Sir."

"Good," Sean said, but before Jan could follow up, they heard Wu's triple-rap at the door. Jan called him in and gave him a warm smile that he couldn't be feeling. Sean had to hand it to him: Jan didn't pass his stresses to his people.

"We've got another college kid dead. No ID – yet. Body was found at the rear of the gas station lot on the corner of Milne and third. It's a nasty one, sir - blood up the walls. I thought I'd come tell you before allocating it."

Sean nodded appreciation. "Jan, could you take Livvy? Nick can go follow up on forensics at Presley's lab."

"Ah, Captain – I did mention blood up the walls… you sure you want to send Livvy?"

Sean raised his brows. "She has a stronger stomach than half the guys on the squad."

"That's kind of my point, Sir." Wu looked embarrassed. "Jan, you know how she kind of thinks out loud? Well, just to warn you, she thinks about crime scenes in such detail that even the CSIs feel queasy."

"Well," Jan rumbled. "I'll have to acquire a strong stomach on the way, it seems."

"Don't forget about the area commandant meeting."

"No, Sir."

Sean smiled as Jan filed out after Wu and stepped into the interrogation room to put a firm end to World War Three still raging next door. He'd never seen Nick so animated. A bit of shouting and jumping up and down had done him good. Ideally, that might mean less rage coming his way when disclosure time came. He might have burnt some of it off already.

**X x X**

Livvy and Jan arrived at the scene to find CSIs still protecting the evidence from the local wildlife, namely the cats after the scraps from the Jerk chicken cafe backing onto the gas station. They'd clearly exhausted the possibilities of the kitchen and yard and were now prowling relentlessly around the body spread prostrate on the gravel. Yellow light flickered off and on across the body from the neon light hanging overhead, featuring the unpromising advert: 'EAT HERE AND GET GAS!'

"There's an offer we can't refuse," Jan murmured, unfolding himself from the car, but remaining firmly behind it. "You want to go first with the evidence?"

She stepped towards the young corpse, aiming first for the knapsack he was carrying, and found herself fighting a couple of ginger toms for right of position. How she was supposed to work like this? She turned to Jan, who was keeping a tacit distance, letting her work without interfering. And probably, subconsciously, protecting his lower body from her – unnecessarily. "Aren't the CSIs supposed to get rid of these critters? They could be compromising the evidence!"

"They are," Jan agreed. "But alley toms are remarkably persistent. Oh….there's a camera up there, see? Please could you go to um... Jerk chicken café and ask them for tapes?"

She followed the direction of his pointed finger and saw the lens, buried in the dip of the E and R of 'here!' She trotted off to the cafe to talk to the guys about their security, and flipped a quick glance back to see Jan hunkered down next to the body, talking quietly into a dictaphone. The cats didn't pester _him_, lucky ass. She was in and out of the café in moments with the CCTV tapes, having inflicted her most winsome smile on the toothless cook/owner.

The cats had formed two, respectful, tidy lines on either side of the alley, sitting on their haunches. They looked like a guard of honour, for God's sake. She looked from them to Jan and back again.

"Why are these cats grovelling at you?"

He shrugged massive shoulders. "Maybe they know and respect style when they see it."

"You're being worshipped by style-guide cats?"

"No reason for them not to. I'm just too cool for my shoes."

She was unmoved by his brilliant flash of cheeky smile. "Lieutenant… with respects, that's the worst explanation I've ever heard for anything… ever."

"I'm saddened," Jan said, and pointed at the mess at the back of the vic's head, chewing his lip thoughtfully. "How tall are you?"

"You're not going to tell me about the cats, are you?"

"Yes," he murmured, meeting her gaze. "But not today. So, how tall are you?"

"Five-four."

"How tall would you say the victim is?"

The young guy was pretty much Nick-shaped. "Five-eleven?"

"Ok…." She watched Jan stand back from the body and duck down to replay the angle of swing that would have caught the kid across the occiput hard enough to smash him forward into the wall with the force that had broken his nose. It was a calculation he was clearly struggling with: he had to bend significantly to lower his eyeline enough to get a mental 3D construction. He sighed. "Unless I lift you up and manhandle you, which I'm not going to do―

"Damn!" fuck. That was out loud. Jan grinned, but went on.

"I'm going to have to come back here with the laser kit to work this one out. But he was carrying something interesting."

Not having touched anything on the body yet, he pulled gloves on and the vic's bag wide open. There were dark red stains and an oily orange smear on the white inner lining and a few shards of very thin glass. The inside of the bag was wet – but with a clear fluid. It smelt a little of formaldehyde.

"Making off with stuff from Warwick's lab? And got intercepted?"

"I assume so," he agreed. "And I found this by the bins." He handed over the guy's wallet from the floor next to the body, unfolding it for her. The picture on the Portland State Student Union pass was of a cheerful Michael Sansom in his first year, with fuller cheeks, shorter hair and a look of hope. It was sad, really. "Come on. Let's go run that tape."

She climbed back in the car with him, trying to ignore the elephant in the room. But it was huge, and grey, and crushed all space where there should be natural alternative conversation. A huge part of her was desperate to ask him if he was secretly a lion – or lowen, or whatever – but it wasn't really the question to raise while he was pulling onto the freeway. He said he'd explain, another day. She was itching with impatience, but had to live with that.

He turned the radio on and the 'O Silver Moon' aria from Rusalka filled the car. Graham would play that one over and over. She cleared her throat, shoving Graham out as soon as he'd snuck in. "Could we….?"

"Of course." Jan switched from the classical channel. He had _huge_ hands. Really nice hands… she snuck a sideways glance at him tapping his thumbs on the wheel to the tune of some grindy Australian folk-rock band 'sailing those same oceans again..' and found that although she'd told herself firmly that under no circumstances was she going to allow herself to have a distraction-therapy crush on him, he still had that unfortunate habit of adding an extra, unwanted 20bpm to her pulse rate. She'd been deeply troubled by this physical reaction, considering she'd just split with Graham, but as her mom pointed out, 'that's a good, healthy thing. You can't be grieving for Graham while picturing your Lieutenant in his boxers.' Her father pointed out that introducing her Lieutenant to Graham would most likely lead to a bloodied nose, which she would find cathartic and satisfying. Really, really unhelpful advice, on both counts. How her parents made any money as published psychiatrists, she had no idea. She decided to picture Denny in his boxers instead. It was much safer. He was easy-going, not part of her line-management chain, and very much male inclined. Well… very much Jan-inclined, at least. Denny's affection for his friend glowed off him with the full strength of permanence. They were so similar, yet just slightly set apart. "Like smooth and crunchy peanut butter," she mused.

"Pardon, Livvy? That was a bit random."

Her face felt like it had just caught fire. "Sorry. The out-loud thing happens whether I like it or not."

He shrugged, grinning. "You should hear the things Nick comes out with when he comes round. Ideally you won't have to, but Nick will be Nick."

They were approaching the city limits and she suddenly felt the need for fresh air. "I was just going to get a coffee on the way back. Want one?"

"Very kind Livvy, but no thanks. I'll start on this tape." Jan pulled over and let her out, and she trotted down to the cops' hidden Starbucks down Nelson road, wrapping round the back of the precinct. She liked this one: there was always a colleague to talk to, and always a clear table at the back where – by unspoken agreement – people sat if they didn't want anyone to speak to them. She walked in, but then saw two people by the back window, sharing cake and hands, low in loving conversation and felt sick on the spot. Graham, and Izzy. Her best friend. Her best friend, out and about with a man who once, she was proud to display. Five weeks ago, she thought she'd spend the rest of her life saying proudly: 'yes, I'm with him'. And then she'd seen how horribly, horribly blind she'd been. And she was supposed to be an Andersen.

She knew about them, of course, but… sharing their cake in _her _Starbucks, her tucked-away Starbucks, just seemed beyond cold. There must have been 20 other branches in Portland. Her first instinct was to storm over and rip Graham a new one, but that would just make her the villain of the piece. The immature, fish-wife woman unable to move on. She took a deep breath and tried applying that filter that Nick kept going on about. Then walked over. All she wanted was for them to never come back in this branch again.

: : : : :

Nick thanked Officer White for the lift back to his own car by the safehouse and drove back to Nelson Road for a coffee before going back to work. As it happened, the visit to the University lab had been useful, beyond a clear strategy to stop him and Livvy from scrapping for a while. He'd noticed a bent handle up by the skylight and asked someone to go dust it for prints. There had been grumbling: it was too high up to drop down or get back up again – a really small entry: it had probably just been damaged or something. He persisted, politely, then less politely, and finally a couple of guys had found a ladder and gone up there. He was probably off a few Christmas card lists, but he knew what they didn't - a fully woged Geier could have broken in.

He parked up and trotted into Starbucks. He ought to get some calories into him. And some caffeine. He felt massively tired, but more upbeat, like a heavy weight had slid off him. He'd been initially furious on the way to the lab after his stand-up row with Livvy, but thinking on the childish… no, really _infantile_ stuff they'd flung at each other about the pointlessness of the stories of the Brothers Grimm… he chuckled. Once he'd gotten over the point that she needed to just let him finish his own sentences from time to time, and think before speaking, the argument was… fun. In response to his explanation of Geiers and (randomly) Ziegvolks, she'd oversimplified the tale of the 3 Billy Goats Gruff to 'pointless warnings of the unexpected wiliness of…goats', and wouldn't accept that not only were there wily goats still around, but some of them were dangerous. But once they'd got past him being paranoid, emotionally stunted….

…he was distracted by a now-familiar glow from the side of a table in the window of the cops' Starbucks and saw Livvy trying to remain calm and talking to a couple sitting in a bench seat. Her face was set and her eyes dry, but the air round her was going scarlet. Jesus…

He went in and stood a meter or so behind her, trying to look as if he was fiddling with the sugar packets and milk tubs. He picked up on the guy's voice.

"… I can't see anything to be gained from you coming and confronting us like this."

"Graham, you're not hearing me. I'm not confronting you. I'm just saying that this is _my _Starbucks, ok? You only know about this place because I brought you here. I don't feel safe in this place with you visiting. So when you've finished what you're having, don't come back to this branch. Ok? That's all."

"This Starbucks is _yours_?"

The incredulous tone got Nick's back up. It seemed perfectly reasonable for Livvy to ask an ex (presumably) not to go to 'her' places. He turned and joined the conversation, his arm on her shoulder. "Ours", he amended. "It's a cop thing."

Graham sighed. "I shouldn't be surprised by now that you're possessive about your haunts. Alright, Livvy, we won't come back."

"Thank you." Nick thought she did really well not to crack him across the face. She turned and went to go up to the counter, and was doing really well until the girl that the guy was sitting with called desperately back at her.

"Liv, I'm sorry. We never set out to hurt your feelings!"

Liv caught his eye and just stared up at him disbelievingly as if to say: 'how do you reply to that?' Nick had no idea. It was well-meant: the tone was genuine, but the words just damagingly facile. Then Graham had to stick his bit in.

"I feel bad about you having to make all those calls. I've cast myself in the bad-guy role, Liv. All our guests know that it's all my fault they spent all that money for nothing. I did that big email write-out, like you asked me to. Got lots of abuse. It's not been easy for me, either. You need to find a way of putting this behind you."

Nick stared down at Livvy. "Guests? Did you nearly marry him?"

She avoided his gaze, looking completely crushed. "Yeah. Five weeks ago."

God. Nick snapped a glare back at the jerk in the seat, wondering if he was going to woge into something, but he just saw the guy for what he truly was – a self-centered shit. "C'mon Liv. I'll make you a coffee back at the station." They went to go while she was on the upper side of the dignity slope.

"Looks like I'm not the only one that's moved on."

It was quietly said, and to the other girl, not aimed at Livvy, but Nick stalked back to Graham's table, grabbed the cake plate and rammed it into his face. The cheesecake provided very little cushioning.

Livvy gasped. "Nick!"

Graham spat out cheesecake, blood, and nearly a tooth. "What have you just…?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way to put it behind you," Nick muttered and stalked out, pulling Livvy by the hand as they went. They got round the corner and she was half laughing, half crying at his observation that he might have hurt Graham's feelings, but then her laugh just died away.

"He wasn't like that when I met him. He wasn't even…" her voice started cracking. "He wasn't even like that when we split! I don't even recognise him. I … I did NOT fall in love with that jerk!"

"It's alright…"

"It's not! It's so not… I caught him holding Izzy months ago, but they had a really good reason for it, and I ended up feeling… stupid… at doubting him. Now I feel stupid full stop. I'm supposed to be a profiler, Nick!" Tears dropped straight from eyes to floor without bothering with her cheeks. "calling all those people… it was like ringing people a hundred times to say 'I'm a gullible fucking idiot'. Was it really gullible for me to want to think the best of them? I just feel so… "

"Yeah…ok. Come here…" Nick opened his arms and she stumbled into them. Dis-engaged for a month? What the hell was she even doing at work? And how the hell did she keep something like that a secret? He didn't even remember hearing that she was engaged in the first place. He kept holding on while she got it out of her system. She calmed down, slowly while the same truck circled the block three times.

"D-did I go pink?" she asked eventually.

"Then red. Then… maroon. How are you doing?" He gave her a light nearly-end-of-hug squeeze.

"Getting there."

He rubbed her back. She rubbed his. He moved his hands to her shoulders. She put her hands on his forearms.

"Ah, Liv… people are beginning to think we're part of the landscape, here…"

She spoke from his shoulder socket. "You know how there are girls who cry, and their tears are neat, and they still look really pretty?"

Nick thought rather painfully of Juliette. "Ye-eah?"

"Well, I'm not one of them." She peeled herself off him after a few more minutes. "Am I blotchy?"

He struggled for words but his 'yes you are' face must have been quite sufficient. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and wiped her face with his sleeve. "For what it's worth, you're _so_ not emotionally stunted."

"Um… Thanks. I think." They moved to head back to the precinct, when he remembered. "But we do need to talk properly. Work out what we both can do and can't do so we don't clash. I've got friends who could maybe shed light on both of us. Want to come to dinner tonight?"

"That would be really nice."

He walked on ahead of her so she could de-blotch, wondering if it was callous of him to feel better after that. Not at her being upset, of course - that was just horrible – but better for making her feel better. And, he grinned, he'd be lying if he denied enjoying slamming the cake in the guy's face. Asshole.

Jan, or rather Jan's arm, accosted him at the ICOC computer room door as he jogged down the corridor and he doubled over, only having seen it at the last minute. Completely winded, he felt Jan scoop him into the room and he was bent over one of the computer desks while he got his breath back.

"Sincere apologies, Nick, you were moving a little faster than I was expecting. Are you alright?"

Nick flapped a vague arm and nodded.

"Two rather critical updates. I've got the area commandant meeting in a moment. Firstly – the video footage of Mike Sansom's death. His murderer was David Presley."

"W-Warwick's father?"

Jan nodded wearily. "I'm afraid so. Let's keep that to ourselves for now, until Warwick's condition is a little stronger. A night of good sleep and a decent meal – and we'll tell him in the morning."

Nick agreed. "And the other?"

"Livvy knows that I'm… something."

"What gave you away?"

"Alley cats. I hate them, Nick. With a passion. The number of times they nearly gave me away to you back in the day…" Jan checked his watch. "Get a lift to my place with Warwick, will you? Don't forget you were _supposed_ to be on a half day."

Nick's work phone buzzed and he saw a text from an unprogrammed number. '_Ready to cooperate. Meet you 8am tomorrow, North Fremont Bridge._' Warwick's mom. "Ok, I'll just call this lady back, then…"

"No, Nick. Now. What I do not need today is the area commandant giving me _this_ look" Jan glared at him as if he'd had the temerity to sprout pink scales in the squadroom, "and ask me why there is an unconscious detective at his desk. So go, please. Denny should be home. Will Livvy be joining us?"

"Yes."

"Fine, we'll get a cab together later." Jan marched off stiffly, and Nick went over to his desk, texting Mrs Presley back. He collected Warwick from the cot room, who followed him keenly to his desk, desperate for a change of scenery. Nick really couldn't blame him. Hopefully the kid would have a good time tonight at Jan and Denny's place. He needed a decent wind-down before his life got all horrible and complicated. Nick asked one of the uniform guys if he would mind dropping them off at the Lieutenant's place and decided to get a coffee while the guy finished off what he was doing with his log book. Warwick sat at his desk, fiddling with his set of stamps. He had 'great!' 'crap' and 'bullshit!' Never used on a formal document, of course. He wondered how Warwick would take the news about his father. It felt weird to think it, but if David Presley were found guilty of murder, Warwick wouldn't have to worry about going home again. But where he would end up living… who only knew. He'd have to keep an eye out for him.

He was almost at the coffee machine when Livvy, cheerier and dry-eyed, pipped in front of him with a remorseless beam. She faffed, and dithered.

"Livvy!"

"I'm selecting my beans!"

"There are two choices of bean. Make a decision." He felt incredibly heavy. He needed to sit down. Now. He couldn't move his legs. He didn't feel ill, or sick, or faint, just….more like someone had snatched his plug out and he was down to a little red blip of 1% charge and couldn't find a charger. He'd never felt fatigue set in this violently before. Was this the price to pay for sudden healing?

"Liv, could you... hurry, please?" He needed to lean on the machine. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself since she was in the way anyway.

"Nick, I know you like your caffeine, but it really can't be _that_ urgent…."

Dammit. Only down would do. He felt his hand slip off Livvy's shoulder to the left as his hips dropped forward and right. The squadroom planks were quite accommodating and bounced a little under him as he hit the floor.

: : : : :

Jan kept his voice, now scratchy, as even as possible as the commandant rolled his fingers down the updated promotion grid, making low noises of surprise at some of the 'accelerations', as he called them. "Hank Griffin has been ready for a long time, Sir."

"You didn't clear this with me before sending off the application papers."

"I sent it to your office four times, Sir. In the end, I presumed that you would not have a problem with the recommendations and had more pressing concerns that kept you from replying."

The commandant grunted. "Fair enough. How do you find it, managing your friends?"

"Sir, you didn't come down here to antagonise my staff," Renard cut in, unexpectedly, and Jan shot him what he hoped was a grateful look. "Vergeer runs a tight ship."

"I find it difficult sometimes, Sir. Welfare issues can be particularly taxing. But we have a cut-off point. I'm the Lieutenant in the office. I'm Jan at home."

The commandant raised his brows and indicated out of Renard's office window. "A tight ship, eh? I would work on your welfare overview, Lieutenant Vergeer."

Jan inclined his head slightly and straightened in his seat. "With respects, I don't believe that I'm falling short in that area."

"Really? Then why is there an unconscious detective by the coffee machine?"

Oh…. NICK! Jan gritted his teeth, scraped his chair back and stomped out of the office. He suppressed the woge before it took hold of him but he was lucky to have tucked his incisors back by the time he reached Livvy, who was kneeling over Nick, looking distressed, and patting his face lightly.

"I'm _so_ sorry, Nick! I _swear_, next time I'll let you cut in line!"

Warwick looked absolutely bewildered. "Livvy – he's fine! He didn't faint, he's not broken a sweat, his pulse is steady, his breathing is steady… he's in _perfect_ health … except that he's completely out cold."

"He's asleep," Jan muttered, peeled Nick off the floor and hauled him up into his arms. "Livvy, in your own time, please help Warwick to gather his possessions and follow me to the secondary carpark. The one under renovation."

Wu followed him down the corridor, indicating the bridal carry. "That's not dignified."

"Good!"

"I've never known how you can do that."

"What, John?"

"Pick up a guy like he barely outweighs a piece of asparagus. It's not even like you have time to go to the gym!"

"What can I say? Annoyance gives me wings."

Wu held open the firedoors to the stairs to carpark B so Jan could swing through without cracking Nick's head on anything. "Aw, Jan! What's wrong with him getting a few minutes of shut-eye?"

"Nothing – just not in the office, and not as a dead-drop in front of the commandant. Besides, John, It's never a few minutes of shut-eye, is it? Do you not remember the nap of '07? When Nick drops off, it's for hours and hours of cataleptic, concentrated unconsciousness. Could you do me a favour and make sure that Livvy and Warwick don't dither too long?"

"Sure."

"Thank you kindly." Jan got Nick down into carpark B, which was empty save for the single vehicle which had clearly been parked by someone ignoring all the 'refurbishment, stay out' signs. Before calling in reinforcements, he decided to give Nick one final chance to wake up, and bounced him up and down by the ankles, taking care not to hit him on the floor. Nothing. He folded Nick carefully down onto a relatively clean tarpaulin along the back wall and dialled Monroe's number. He picked up on the fifth ring.

"Monroe! I know I'm seeing you later, but….How are you?"

"I'm very, very, very, very well, thanks dude. What do you want?"

Jan laughed, pleased to see that Monroe's resistance to ridiculous demands was firmly in place. Nonetheless… "I'm really sorry to do this, but I do have a favour to ask, and it's not dignified."

"Oh man… alright. Let me get out the front of the house so we can talk." Jan heard shuffling, a creak, and a click. When Monroe came back on the line, he was deliberately keeping his voice low. "Sorry – there's a whole bunch of people doing antenatal chanting in the sitting room. Apparently, they're all trying to be 'present'. I'll tell you something for nothing – I wish they'd go be present somewhere else. Ok. So - what do you need?"

"I'd be much obliged if you'd woge to full alpha for me and roar at Nick."

There was a short, confused silence. "Uh, Jan… as fun as that _sounds_, I've got a pretty full schedule on today and I can't really come across town just to―"

"I wouldn't dream of imposing on you like that." Jan swallowed hard to clear the ache in his throat.

"Say that again?"

"I said I wouldn't dream of imposing―"

Monroe laughed. "Nah, I heard you, man. I just wanted to hear it again. Golden words, not often heard. So, since you asked so nicely, how does this work? Are you bringing him across town? Is this consensual roaring? Does he know this is coming?"

"He's asleep in the carpark. I have no problems with him slumbering the afternoon on my couch, but he needs to be alert to get Warwick home."

"Right. Gimme a sec."

Jan hung on while Monroe quietly informed Rosalee that he was just popping out into the woods to roar at Nick. He smiled: he loved it that there were no secrets between those two. Then he heard a front door shut and the sounds of jogging.

"Ok – I'm just getting a little way from the house. Rosie pointed out that her friends were supposed to be, y'know, relaxing… I can't do this unprovoked, by the way. You'll have to get me started. Say something really annoying, to get me in the mood."

Jan shrugged. "I'm sure something will come to me in a moment. Oh, by the way – Denny told me he got a clock for your little one's baby shower this morning – as and when the wonderful event happens."

"Oh… yeah?"

Jan could hear him still running. Good. "It's very cute. It's a Spongebob first edition digital and sings 'goofy-goobers' on the half-hour."

He had barely seconds to switch his cell to speaker and put it by Nick's ear before an indignant wolvish roar ripped from the iphone and echoed round the carpark. Nicked picked his head up blearily and muttered "M'nroe?"

"On the phone," Jan explained.

"Ok." Nick's head dropped back again.

"How did that go?" Monroe asked.

"He… stirred. Not altogether a success, I'm afraid, but thanks for trying. Oh – when you come later, could you bring his father's letter? I think elements of his transition are getting to him, a little. He may feel better just having it to hand."

"Sure. See you at seven or so. Bye! Oh – Jan! Please tell me that the spongebob clock was part of your infuriation plan?"

"Of course. See you later, Eddie." Jan pocketed his cellphone and glanced despairingly down at Nick. Now what? At the back of his hearing, he heard Livvy yelling in the stairwell, followed by a protesting cry from Warwick and scrabbling feet. He snatched his Beretta out and sprinted to the stairs, hearing what sounded very much like a Livvy kick and a howl from close by.

"Get… off! GET OFF ME!"

Jan made to lunge upwards when John Warrington ripped past, yanking Warwick along behind him towards the car, pointing a gun at him, then Jan, then Nick – _where the fuck did he come from? – _and trying to keep himself covered while he yanked the back door open. Nick - _unarmed, dammit! - _lunged forward, narrowly missing being shot in the side, and made Warrington's life difficult by slamming the door shut again and kicking him in the ribs. As Warrington staggered sideways, Warwick shifted, snapping his wings out and swiping Warrington hard enough to send him crashing to the floor.

Warrington fired at Nick again, missing again, but Jan was leaving nothing further to chance, seizing Warrington's gun hand and bashing it lightly against the floor. The man woged and swore, but disarmed, had no choice but to succumb to being pinned. And he succumbed, properly. He just looked back up at him over his shoulder, looking miserable. He didn't even fight as Jan pulled him to his feet and steered him towards the lifts. Livvy emerged from the stairwell looking pissed, but otherwise fine.

"You guys alright?" Jan asked, and they nodded. "Good. Nick and Warwick, please go and join Officer White in the main carpark. He'll run you home. Livvy – with me. Let's go and have a chat with Mr Warrington."

Warrington turned back to Warwick just as they were getting in the lifts, and he looked… beaten. "Sorry, kid. Nothing personal," he muttered. "I'm just glad it's all over."

**X x X**

**Next chapter coming soon…. The United Federation of Rare Species re-forms! And a tune for the ipod/phone… U2's 'With or Without You' playing in the kitchen, accompanied by air-drumming performed by a slightly-dressed Denny, lol.**

**Next chapters will be shorter - was having pacing problems doing this any other way. And thanks to the lovely ladies (particularly Nahaliel) helping me to get this chapter done without worrying about the length all the time, lol. **


	10. Getting your head round things

**And here we are with chapter 10! Revelation day growing ever closer… this is kinda long (again) but the guys are all so chatty, lol. Lots of fluff, and largely a gentle, leisurely chapter before things get all terse and action-y again. I really hope you enjoy, and thanks for all the lovely, encouraging and helpful reviews!**

"You were... um... not very awake a few moments ago. And then you kicked that guy away from me." Warwick glanced sideways at Nick in the back of the squad car. It looked as if the Grimm were fighting a second round of incoming sleep, but nonetheless, had the energy to return a quizzical stare. "Thanks. Seems a little lame, but… thanks. A lot."

Nick gave him a bleary smile. "Welcome. And you haven't whited out yet. After a full woge, and smacking Warrington with your wing. I'm pleased for you, of course, but what's that about?"

The control and failure to faint hadn't missed Warwick, naturally, and he'd been musing on it.

"It was deliberate - that woge. Well… aimed, at least. I'm fed up with being grabbed, followed, pressured, abducted..." Warwick made himself trail off before nearly adding 'having to be put to bed', which might have sounded ungracious in the same sentence as everything else. "Maybe I get a… different kind of adrenaline production if it's deliberate. All these post-woge faints might be a cortisol reaction. Definitely a theory I want to work on."

"Do that. Let me know if there's anything you can do about my sleeping while you're about it."

As Nick rested his face on the window, Warwick mused almost cheerfully on his new theory. Under usual conditions, discovering a violent reaction to cortisol would not be something to celebrate, but it was a workable theory with a potential fix – that was the important thing. If normal humans with Addison's disease could control their reactions to cortisol overload with fairly standard hormonal treatment, he could probably come up with an adaptation of the same, with a little help. He might not have to be ill for the rest of his life. Or at least avoid stress for the rest of his life – which defied the point of being alive, really. He smiled as he looked out of the window: there was a great deal of bright, beautiful pink lining the navy blue clouds as they rumbled down the freeway to the Lieutenant's home.

The big blonde guy with the photophobic baby was standing outside a house down a road full of Dutch Colonial detached homes and trotted down to the car to greet them. Warwick hopped out – now pretty nifty on his plaster even without his crutches – and Nick stumbled out on the other side.

"Right lads, in you go. Just want a quick word with young White, here…"

While he chatted to the officer driving the squad car, Warwick and Nick shuffled their way up to the front door and Warwick saw two little boys' faces appear in the window of the kitchen. They let themselves in and the bigger of the two little boys dashed straight over to Nick and gave him a fierce leg hug, followed closely by the second little guy, who assaulted his knee at a rapid waddle. Warwick kept a straight face as Nick ruffled their heads, trying to keep his balance. He was still swaying when they let go, but he'd only had about ten minutes sleep, Warwick reckoned, between hitting the deck in the squadroom and intervening in the scrap in the carpark.

The bigger little guy was _bossy_. "Denny says you need to go to bed. Now. And said if you fell over we shouldn't worry, 'cause you've just gone flop-bot."

"FLOP BOT?"

"An' he says that if you _won't_ go to bed, we can do science at you 'until you sercum'."

"Succumb," Denny corrected, coming in and closing the door behind him. "Nick, you do not want to be subjected to their science, believe me. Oi! Don't lean on my arm. I'm not a sleeping pole." Denny grabbed Nick's shoulder and levered him upright. "What am I not?"

"A sleeping pole," Nick muttered.

"Good lad. Right – get upstairs. Use my bed, get your head down for a few hours. Dozy, underslept Grimm."

Warwick grinned. Still, he was starting to see Nick's point about his Grimm status giving him no protection from mocking. He watched Nick pull himself up the stairs and crawl into a room like it was his own home, feeling a pang of envy. Nick's buddies may rib him a fair bit, but they clearly looked out for him, like family. Warwick missed Henry. Henry had been his first proper friend and those lowen shits had gone and killed him. It seemed an age since he'd been in Nick's lounge telling him what really happened at the 'hazing', why he couldn't tell the police and why he couldn't go home. Before he could plunge into any maudlin thoughts about his own lack of family, the baby decided to give a sudden scream, making him almost leap off the sofa.

Denny chuckled and picked her up. "You have to get used to that, living around here. Do me a favour – hang on to her for a minute? I'm just going to set up Mario Kart for the smalls."

Warwick took her gingerly and she yanked his hair. He went to sweep it out of the way with his fingers and she bapped him firmly on the nose. "Ow!" he half laughed. "That was a bit hard!"

"Sorry," Denny muttered, sorting wires out. "She's in a slightly forbidding mood. So far, I've been banned from opening beans, scratching my nose, scratching my head, opening a door, adjusting my crot―jeans … Anything preventing a proper, two-handed hug is _not allowed._"

Warwick settled her in the crook of his arm, tickling her tummy lightly, and she settled immediately, burbling and finger-tip drumming. "She seems a lot better than yesterday."

"Yeah, I was going to thank you for that! Great tip on dropping the Lasix. She's been a lot more easy-going. Oh – I should make introductions. Little Madam is Carianne, but I tend to call her Pickle. The big fella is Theo – he's Jan's boy. And the little fella is Matty―"

"Yeti!"

"Who is not a Yeti, whatever he would have you believe. He's a mate's son. His wife's got gastroenteritis, so we're just having him overnight so she can get a bit of decent rest."

Warwick's eyes widened. "How do you deal with all three of them?"

"With help! You're going to earn your keep this evening, as are the others, when they turn up. But not without some hospitality. Want a Pepsi, or something?"

Warwick thought lovingly of a cup of tea and asked for one, wondering whether Denny was wesen as well as the Lieutenant. And if so, which kind? He must be something… surely? He couldn't imagine a pure human being adopted into a Koninglowen pride, however laid back the Lieutenant seemed. Well, until he'd grabbed Nick off the floor like picking up a marshmallow and stalked off down the corridor with him - _then _he looked mad enough to be a Koninglowen. Denny didn't smell like Lowen. Actually, he didn't smell of anything except a generous amount of body spray. Denny was back in a few moments, and took the baby so Warwick could drink his tea. She lay in his lap and tried a drumming routine against his gut, which Denny absently fended off with his fingertips.

"Who are 'the others'?"

"Uh… friends. We're sort of having a Nick-summit. One of his mates is a bit worried about him so it's a catch-up and cheer-up session."

Warwick smiled sadly. "That sounds nice. Will I get sent to bed while all this is going on?"

"Is this an emo thing? Deriving the most dismal scenario out of any given conversation? Don't be daft."

"It's not that daft," Warwick said stiffly. "I've spent most of my life being packed off to bed – or the lab – while the important conversations have taken place."

"Well, this evening isn't most of your life, is it? Lighten up, son. Or I'll make you do the Moo Moo Meadows course against Theo, using the Donkey Kong on the 50cc motorbike."

Warwick watched Theo navigate Baby Mario round a flawless yet narrow bend over a virtual ravine at about 120mph. Not a competitor he'd go up against lightly – despite his international Yoshi's Island platform record. "Um… no thanks. And I wasn't doing an emo 'thing'. I just presumed that you'd all be talking 'Grimm'. Privately."

"Ah… so you know about Nick."

"Well.. yeah! And I know that Jan's a Koninglowen. And presumably you know I'm a Geier…"

"Well, I do _now_. All I know, mate, is that you've had a shitty time and need a 'parent' around until Jan gets back. He doesn't talk about his cases. Wouldn't be right. I'm not a cop."

Warwick frowned. "Weren't you going for a cop job yesterday?"

"It's civilian. I'm a tactical officer, coordinating fire, police and ambulance on the ground during an incident. It's not police work. Anyway, you seem a sensible kid. You might have some ideas on keeping Nick's various Grimmptoms under control. "

"I'm a doctor on paper. And you still refer to me as a 'kid'."

Denny rolled his eyes. "Yeah… that's because you _are_ a kid. It's not a crime, you know. Clearly you're a lot smarter than the average Jagerbar, but there's more to life than being smart, isn't there? Like how you actually feel about things. And people."

Warwick smarted. It wasn't Denny being trolled through medical studies when he was 12, with no classmates. "You've no idea what it's like going through accelerated learning."

Unexpectedly, Denny burst out laughing. "Do I not? It's a sodding nightmare! Ok … first example. Day three, Oxford University. 14 years old, led from coffee bar to pub by a bunch of 18 year olds instead of meeting my mum at the gates of the Orangery, as promised…."

**X x X**

Wu looked up at Jan as he patrolled Warrington over for booking, and he must have had a King-strop expression on his face because his old friend looked startled. He eased his temper down a notch.

"I'm sorry to glare. Attempted child abduction," Jan reported, handing Warrington over, ignoring the increasingly looming presence of the Area Commandant next to Renard, who'd walked over, hands in pockets, as ever. "Potential illegal possession of a fire-arm. Firing on a police officer."

Warrington glanced up at him desperately. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen. Your 'note of concern' about my lifestyle has been duly noted by IA. It would be completely against protocol for me to conduct your interrogation."

Renard glanced at Livvy, who was about to dive back off to her desk. "What do you have on?"

"A little discussion with the three frat kids who know our latest deceased. Not something that'll help the case if we defer it."

Renard nodded at Jan. "Fine, Andersen. I'll talk to Warrington. Vergeer, you can observe."

"What if I drop it? The IA tip?"

Jan was genuinely curious. "And why would you do that?"

"I'll explain. Privately." The man's expression of appeal was strangely intense in a way that Jan had never come across before. "Please? You've seen my son for yourself. There are things I can't… explain to other people."

Jan rubbed the back of his neck wearily and caught Renard's eye, who nodded discreetly. Fine. So he'd do it. After a long, cold drink. "Interrogation 4 please John, once booked."

"No problem," Wu murmured, and led the man off. There was no fight, no indignation.

"How is your detective?" The Commandant asked suddenly. "For a guy on 'light duties', he took quite a thump to the floorboards."

Jan gritted his teeth. "He's fine, thank you. He fell asleep."

"On his feet?"

"He has that tendency," Jan replied, then cleared his throat. "Incidentally, when I got out there, the young man checking him over had already had the chance to be quite thorough, and move him into recovery. So he must have collapsed a good minute before you saw fit to draw it to my attention. With respects, my detectives are _not_ pawns in senior staff discussions about welfare. Next time you see an officer fall down, please have the goodness to act immediately and not save your observation for a conversational point-scoring exercise. He might have been ill. Good day, Sir."

Jan caught Renard's warning glance as he strode out of the room. Fully aware he'd overstepped the mark and not really giving a blue, flying Reinigen's arse about it, Jan got a bottle of cold water from the drinks machine, took a long, refreshing swig, and made his way to interrogation 4, stopping only to grab Nick's copy of the case notes from his pedestal with his spare key. Livvy caught his arm lightly.

"You ok?"

He shot her a smile. Sweet of her to ask. "I'll be fine. Thank you." And then remembered she was a temporarily partnerless rookie, in theory, and hopped a couple of steps back to her. "What's your plan with the frat boys?"

"Michael Sansom was their friend – according to Nick. I thought about strumming their guilt strings."

Jan approved. "Good move. Give me a shout if you need any help. Feel free to interrupt me, if you need to."

When he got to Interrogation 4, Warrington was already installed, pale and apprehensive. Jan sat. "I presume there are things you need to say that can't go on record."

"You're a King Pride," Warrington mumbled. "You could've taken me to pieces downstairs. Why didn't you?"

"I'm a cop. Taking people to pieces isn't really in my job description."

"And you're working with a Grimm."

"I'm working with two highly expert, intuitive profilers, neither of whom I want to see shot at. Whatever else they happen to be is beside the point. Not that I'm displeased, but why this sudden cooperation? You must know that two counts of child abduction carries a radical penalty."

"Two counts?"

Jan raised his brows. "Is Blake and Irvine's attempt to grab Warwick last night not ringing any bells?"

"That wasn't me! It was Presley! He's got some ridiculous… cultish influence over my son. Blake's competitive. He seems to think that changing his DNA is going to make him some kind of god on the sports field, like that's the be-all-and-end-all of life." Warrington woged, half lowen, only, from the lack of facial re-alignment, and it took him a moment of clutching his head between his hands before he was ready to go on.

Jan unscrewed his bottle of water and pushed it towards Warrington, giving him a chance to recover himself. "You're half human," he observed lightly. "Blake's full lowen."

"Blake's… not mine. Well, of course he is, he's my son. I love him. This whole IA thing was just a distraction to get you off his case. I was expecting you to be… different. But no, Blake's not biologically mine. My wife had an affair." Warrington pulled a hand across his face, wiping the sweat off. "Tonight was about ransom. I grabbed Presley's kid to get him to cut _my_ kid loose from this insane venture he's got going on. And maybe even get my menaces back."

Jan leant forward. Finally, an indictable admission. "The money you've been feeding to the Presleys wasn't about funding research?"

"To begin with. It was an amicable arrangement. I don't know how this works for other people, but for me, the stress-wogeing is getting worse with age. Presley told me that his son was coming very close to coming up with something that could manage that better."

"By diminishing your human half? Unfortunately, Warwick's found that that's not possible. At least not after gestation. And not very successful beforehand." Jan almost felt pity for the man. Having seen the effects on Denny, who was a good decade younger than Warrington, he could understand the desperation.

"Yeah. But I know Mike Sansom well. Mike works in the same lab as Presley's kid, Warwick. He was quietly keeping an eye on what Warwick was doing because it seemed way out of line with his basic parahuman dissertation project plan. And he's just a kid, you know? Mike's no power mentor, but he's a few years older. He knows what pressure looks like. Anyway, he noticed that Warwick was getting cold feet, losing interest – whatever. So I stopped the funding."

"What persuaded you to continue?"

"Presley's a low-rate shit. But he knows other people, new people, who are quite keen to keep a record of half-humans to test future serums on, as and when something is developed. The rest of the money was just about keeping my name off that list."

"What about Stark?"

"I think Stark's still under the impression that some vial of gunk is going to turn him into you. Good luck to him." Warrington swallowed. "Look – I want to see Presley sent down, but this can't be dealt with in court, or within the law. This is the kind of situation that what the Royals are supposed to deal with. There's supposed to be a Prince in Portland – where is he right now?"

Jan took a deep breath. Warrington had a point about wesen issues existing outside the law and the need to have some kind of wesen ruling system that worked. A benign one. The CCTV footage he'd seen of Presley would be useless in court. While it incontrovertibly showed him murdering Mike Sansom, he did so while in Geier form. Not something he could present to the DA as evidence. At least with Warrington's testimony, they were finally getting somewhere, albeit leaving the Warringtons – Blake included – in a very vulnerable place. "If I were you, I'd put your money on the Laufer, rather than the Royals."

"The Laufer? Good god – trust them? You trying to get me killed?"

"I believe them to be the lesser of two evils. I have…other connections. I'll make sure your family is taken care of." Jan reached for his tape recorder. "I'll give you a few moments to compose a statement that can be used in court. As for the rest… I'll have to apply a little ingenuity." But there was a gap in the background to all this. "You say Presley himself arranged the grab on Warwick last night. Why would he have frat boys attempt to abduct his own son?"

Warrington looked harassed. "God knows. Maybe he was concerned that Warwick would be brave enough to tell someone the whole story – existence of wesen and all. He's a strange kid, but he's got guts. I'll give him that."

After a few hours of milder cross examination, Jan came away from the room with useable evidence, but now fully understanding the Captain's need to start from scratch with laufer intelligence. After the tape had been turned off, he could resist his curiosity no longer and raised the issue of rumours circulating about his manufacture of Siegbarste gift, particularly as he'd recognised the greasy orange stain in the bag that had been found on Sansom's body. Warrington hadn't denied it. In fact, Gift production was Sansom's own discreet little project. They both knew a good man that they wanted to protect. But the only way to find an antidote, was to produce it first.

In the same way that detectives had to follow through every possible lead rising from a red herring, like focussing on Warrington and Stark because of a young boy's natural assumption that his parents weren't in the criminal centre of things, Renard's inherited intelligence had no meaning without context. It suddenly became infinitely far more important that he, Renard and Nick found a way to work together properly: Renard running intelligence and strategy; him tactical control; Nick doing the enforcing. And they had to do it in a way that didn't draw attention to Nick's Grimm duties. Or other hair-raising elements of Nick's physical weirdnesses, come to that.

Just to make absolutely sure that Presley had done a full woge on the CCTV – visible to humans – he pitched a hissy fit about the tape jamming in the machine, and asked Wu to take a look. Wu made mild comments about his total technological ineptitude, and some wild comments about the really horrible masks people bought these days to commit crimes in.

With the full woge confirmed, Jan raised an APB on David Presley on the grounds of his confession from Warrington, and found that it had already been done by Livvy, who was typing with comical focus into her report software. It seemed that she'd had a productive session with the Reinigen frat boys, one way or the other. He grabbed a chair, spun the back to face him and wheeled over to her desk, speaking quietly. "You called an APB?"

She looked alarmed. "God – I should've cleared that with you first!"

"Traditionally, yes, but I've just tried to do the same, so it's moot. What did you find?"

"They're clear for the hazing – no idea what happened to Henry Morecombe – but they did shed some light on Mike Sansom. Warwick's father put pressure on him to keep tabs on his lab progress. He became uncomfortable with the situation, and then saw him breaking into the lab when his progress reports became less detailed. I think he respected Warwick's desire to step away from things. There were unlabelled, unprocessed blood samples in Warwick's lock-up area – which isn't in the lab. The break-in spooked him. Mike was trying to get rid of the samples, assuming that they'd been overlooked for a reason, and protect his own stuff. He'd called his friends to let them know where he was going when he was intercepted by Presley."

Jan was touched by her slightly sad smile. "It's not a nice story for Warwick is it, Livs?"

"We don't have to tell him tonight, do we?"

"I've already suggested that to Nick, don't worry. And the APB's out now. I'm on call. They'll call me back if they find him. You nearly ready to go?"

She saved her document, shut down, and he went to clear up his desk. After a few abortive calls and total failure to order any cabs, he called Denny, who agreed to come pick them up. She approached with her coat and he found himself abruptly sitting again. She gave him a small, embarrassed smile. "Sir, you can't keep finding solid obstacles to hide behind every time we talk. I'm not going to kick you again."

He burst out laughing, feeling the blush spread. It was a fair call. "It's sub-conscious, I promise you."

**X x X**

Nick pinged out of Denny's bed and trotted down the stairs, feeling a new man. He was pleased to see Warwick playing Mario Kart with Theo, Matty wedged between his legs as they took the sharp bends together. Denny was back in the kitchen with Carianne and a Pepsi, having to defend himself from a weeny-fisted wallop every time he took a sip. Denny flashed a grin at him as he appeared in the hallway, pointed at Warwick's turned back and seemed about to mouth something cheerful when the doorbell rang. Whatever it was could wait, apparently.

Denny swung the door open to admit Hank, Rosalee and Monroe. "In you flock…Grab seats – drinks and nibblies on coffee table, yada yada yada…"

Nick was outpaced en route to the door by Theo, who was following his 'new' tradition of refusing entry to the house until all visitors properly admired the outfit of the day. He'd changed into his black combats and thermal top (with contrast neon green stitching at shoulders and wrists), wrap-around shades, and a random red cloak and mask. Nick grinned. He did look _very_ cool – even with the cloak and mask.

Monroe led the honours, covering his face with mock anguish, pulling Rosalee against his chest to protect her eyes. "Dude! God! I can't come any closer! The coolness of your garb – it's just too much!"

"So… what am I?"

Monroe hazarded a guess. "Um… superhero god?"

Nick and Hank dropped to their knees in an eastern arm-waving grovel, chanting "Alaam Alaam!"

"No! I'm not a god." Theo rolled his eyes. "I'm just a superhero."

"False alaarm! false alaarm!" they amended, still arm-waving, and clambered giggling to their feet.

Warwick grinned at him in surprise from across the kitchen, where he'd suddenly chosen to hide himself, it seemed, during this influx of people. He looked happy enough, though. Nick decided to give the kid a few minutes to get used to all the people in the house and introduce himself in his own time. As it happened, Hank went over to him with a beer and chatted to him a few minutes. Feeling ok about leaving the kid to his own devices for a few minutes, he slumped into the armchair with a beer. Rosalee had already kicked her shoes off and had Theo in her lap, while Monroe was coping with a bouncy Matty Yeti-ing away on his.

Nick tapped Theo on the shoulder for conversation, feeling a little mean about slouching in earlier and going straight upstairs to sleep. "How was school?"

"Cool! Today we mostly did interrupting volcanoes."

They all chuckled, but as ever, Monroe couldn't help himself with the auto-correct. "I think that's probably _erupting_ volcanoes, little man."

Nick snickered. "I think a volcano blowing up mid-sentence would probably put me off my stride!"

"I'm sure Vesuvius shattered a few Pompeiian conversations in her time." Denny raised the pitch of his voice to a fish-wife's falsetto. "'I'm _telling_ you, Caecilius, I didn't sleep with the slave, I slept with the― BOOM!" Halfway through his domestic-riot-sabotaged-by-volcano pantomime, his phone went and he deposited Carianne on Nick's lap before trotting off into the hallway to answer.

Nick put his feet up on the coffee table, pressed his legs together and popped her on her back with her feet resting on his gut. She swung her arms cheerfully at him and then stuck her foot in her mouth. He blinked. Pretty bendy! "Is that a new trick?" She beamed gummily at him from around her toes and reached for his fingertips. He grinned and supplied them, but had to withdraw quite quickly when it became apparent that she intended to use his help to shove her foot further down her throat. Despite Carrie's deadly sense of fun, he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks, and rested back a little, just watching the hubbub going on around him.

Hank and Warwick had made their way through from the kitchen to sit on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, quietly debating whether it was likely that Pierce Brosnan could've out-driven a pyroclastic cloud in _Dante's Peak_. Theo was explaining lava in all its varieties, fascinating his audience, more because of his complete obsessive glee in educating all of them than the quality of his reportage. He explained that there was high lava, low lava, fast lava, noisy lava, and wide lava. Rosalie and Monroe listened agog, alternating their shared glances between soppy happiness that small people were coming their way, and utter terror that they would have to remain smarter than their child at all times.

Matty had got down from Monroe's lap and was cross-country skiing across the lounge in his size 13 shoes. Denny nearly fell over Matty as he walked back in, finishing off his conversation with Jan. "Yeah… alright, we'll order now. Nah, I've only had a Pepsi… I'll come and pick you up. No problem. Oh, she's coming too? Groovy. You alright, mate? Your voice is a bit…. Fine. See you in ten…"

Nick caught Denny's eye as he hung up. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah – think so. Sounds like Jan's had a rather heavy day, one way or the other. I'm just going to nip over and pick him and Livvy up. Will these little horrors be okay with you guys for a while?"

Nick frowned. "He's too sick to drive?"

"Nah, no worries. He just didn't have the car with him today."

Monroe blinked. "What's with his voice?"

Denny looked exasperated. "What's the drama, folks? The bloke's got a sore throat. Probably from roaring too much, the silly sod. There was the boys he arrested last night, who apparently needed to be yelled at, and the three nights in a row beforehand when he scared the dinner out of the local wildlife because the wifi wouldn't connect…"

Nick grinned: the only times he'd ever seen his mentor flip out as a rookie was when he was trying to get a VHS set to 'talk to' a recording DVD player so that they could transfer evidence. Furniture had nearly been destroyed by the time he had gone for some technical help. It was good to know that some things didn't really change. He was startled from his reverie by Denny throwing a pizza menu at him and clapping a pad with pen by his side.

"Right… Hank, orderly bloke, you're in charge of making the Pizza call. For our best possible chance of getting what we actually ask for, here's the list. Make choice, write clearly, initial your order and indicate any unexpected toppings with an underline."

Nick scribbled down 'American, Medium. Jalepenos. NB.' "What's an unexpected topping?"

"Anything not included in the standard price of the pizza that complicates the order. Like, mushroom on your Hawaiian, that sort of thing."

"Not mountain boot, or roast swan, then?"

"Jesus, Monroe. I'm never ordering from _your_ local." Denny grabbed the pad, scrawled 'Four seasons NO F-ING CHEESE (D). Margheritas, 2 x mini (T&M)'. Napolitan. Peppers. (L)', and passed it on. The board went round the room until it got to Warwick on Nick's right, who blinked at the force with which Denny had driven his instructions almost through the paper.

"Got something against cheese?" he asked timidly.

"Nope – love the stuff. It just doesn't like me very much. Or milk. Or yoghurt. Or anything else that I would happily eat from dawn till dusk, left to my own devices. Siegbarstes and calcium do _not _mix." Denny huffed and got to his feet, swinging a leather jacket on. "Right – back in twenty."

Nick met Warwick's stunned gaze as Denny closed the door behind him. He smiled slightly, answering his question silently. _Yes, he's Siegbarste. _ Then made the introductions round the room, suddenly remembering that, apart from the little ones, who he'd clearly befriended, the only person that Warwick knew was Hank.

"Who's Livvy?" Rosalee asked, reaching for a bunch of peanuts and closing her fist round them possessively as Monroe tried to confiscate them. "Hey – I'm not allergic! You're not allergic! Baby will be _fine!_"

"Livvy – Olivia – is my temporary partner," Nick explained. "While Hank's on study leave."

Monroe pulled a cautious face. "Not to be unwelcoming, but… won't that make for unnatural conversation? It's just that we're all… wesen, and we're here to discuss the general welfare of the Grimm―"

"She knows I'm a Grimm," Nick said quietly. "Part of the reason she's coming this evening, so we get to know each other a little more."

"Dude! How the hell did that happen so fast? You get outed?"

Nick laughed. "You could say that. I was interviewing Warwick's mom, she woged, we made eye-contact, and then she did the Grimm-scream, as people do." He noted Warwick's blush and gave him a reassuring clap on the shoulder.

Monroe shrugged. "So she's wesen? If she is, and you get on ok… that could work. Couldn't it?"

"Trust me," Hank muttered. "I watched Nick try to educate Livvy for like … an hour… on what 'wesen' were. She's _not_ wesen."

Monroe scratched his head. "How did she react? To the Grimm-scream, I mean?"

Nick actually chuckled, thinking back on it. "Livvy told her to get a grip."

Hank burst out laughing and picked up his phone to go make the pizza call. "Why can I so clearly see her doing that?"

"Monroe – does the term 'Inuitiv' mean anything to you?"

"Sure. It's like, um… an umbrella term for beings that can see wesen, that aren't wesen. Grimms account for a very, very large proportion of those."

"Jan seems to think that Livvy comes from the other proportion. He mentioned an…" Nick struggled to get his tongue round the syllables. "An All-wissen-din?"

Monroe stared. Then widened his stare. And just as Nick thought he was really pushing the envelope on the staring, he supplemented the bug-eyed look with his what-the-hell open-palmed fidget and concluded with a jaw-drop. "She's an Allwissendin? An…Andersen?"

"How did you know her surname?"

"She's an Andersen _called _Andersen?"

"Eddie! Focus! What the hell's an Andersen?"

Monroe didn't focus. His face broke into a broad grin and he lapsed back into his seat, rubbing his hands with unwelcome relish. "Oh my… God. This is so cool! How do you guys get on?"

"Variably," Nick admitted. "She's a little unpredictable. One minute she's wiser than six sages all bunched together, the next minute she's like a teenager. All I know is that she'd heard of Grimms, and that we didn't have good press."

"Nothing new there, sweetie," Rosalee chimed in.

"But I'm not talking about a fear reaction. I'm talking really insulting bad press. According to her inherited information, Grimms are paranoid, emotionally stunted. 'Slow'. It's a miracle we re-produce, blah blah." Nick retrieved a hand from Carianne to swig on his beer and glared at Monroe as he fell about laughing. "This doesn't seem to come as a surprise to you."

"There was no love lost between the brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen, either," Monroe chuckled. "Not on a philosophical level at least, anyway. I'll fill you in when she gets here. Save me repeating everything."

"So she's a descendent of…." It finally clicked for Nick, and he groaned. He'd just got his head around the god-knows-how-many wesen featured in the Grimm's own memoires – now it looked like he had to read a bunch of fairy tales he'd forgotten since his childhood to get his head around what Livvy was seeing when _she_ looked at people. The only HCA story he could remember of the top of his head was the Ugly Duckling.

Not that either of the little ones were ugly – far, far from it – but thinking of the ugly duckling made him think of little people, Matty and Theo, and he realised he hadn't heard their voices for a little while. He looked around the lounge and kitchen for them, then they all heard a thud from upstairs, followed by a silence and a colossal howl. Nick clutched Carianne to his chest and pelted off up the stairs, closely followed by Monroe and Hank – now off the phone - Rosalee hovering nervously at the bottom. Theo was on his side on the floor, next to Rosalee's shoes, with that awful expression of total infant dejection and shock on his face, caught between cries, face red, tears welling, mouth turned majestically downwards. In a slight panic, Nick handed Carianne to Hank, who took her in an even bigger panic, then Nick picked up Theo and carried him down the stairs. Hank and Monroe followed, carrying Carriane and Matty respectively.

It took a fair while for Theo to settle down, while Warwick lightly checked him over. Nick kept up the supply of quiet cuddles until Theo was closer to being able to speak.

"Hey little buddy, what happened?"

"Shoes!" This information from Matty, who pointed accusingly up the stairs, via Monroe's left nostril.

Nick gave Theo a light squeeze and wiped tears off his cheeks with his sleeve. "You fell out of Rosalee's shoes?"

Theo fought for breath between sobs. "W-Why are women's s-shoes so _dangerous_?"

"We ask ourselves that question every day, little man," Hank assured gravely. "Amongst others."

Rosalee pulled a face, retrieved her shoes from upstairs and indicated the one-inch heel. "They're hardly sky-scrapers, guys!"

"DADDY!"

Nick pulled a face. "Daddy will be home soon, Theo―" then he saw Jan looming over them. "Oh, literally Daddy. Ok, passing you over… That was quick!"

"Denny was driving," Jan explained, and took Theo up in his arms soothingly. "Oké meneertje. Shhh… Het is oké! Je hebt met haar schoenen gespeeld, hé?"

Nick forgot about Jan's tendency to plunge back into Dutch when his little ones were hurt. But it worked. After a moment, Theo unpeeled his little arms from round Jan's neck, sniffling indignantly. Jan sneakily claimed the armchair, and both his kids, Carianne in one arm, and Theo on his lap. He'd looked really tired taking them both, but having them both tugging for his attention seemed to re-energise him instantly. Nick couldn't help smiling. A few years back, he could never imagine Jan – permanently (and politely) having to peel female witnesses and other women off him – being so domesticated. Denny supervised the checking of the pizza at the doorway as it arrived – early – and sent the quaking delivery boy away with a tip once assured that his pizza was cheese-free. The boxes were laid out on the coffee table and opened, and then there was a brief and undignified scramble for the remaining sofa places, won by Rosalee (well, she was not really competing), Monroe, Denny, and – suddenly on top of him – Livvy.

"Ow! Bloody hell, woman!" Denny tried and failed to dislodge her, making Nick chuckle.

"I wouldn't bother, Denny. I've seen her Jitsu pins. They're effective."

"You're taking up a disproportionate width on the couch!"

"Well ask me to move up, then! Don't just do a reverse plunge from a three foot drop!"

Theo had recovered himself sufficiently enough to be nosy. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"No!" Livvy and Denny chorused, Denny unsuccessfully trying to move her.

"My girlfriend sits on me," Theo reported mournfully.

Jan gave his son a light poke. "Please tell me this is the same girlfriend as the girl that snogged you a couple of days ago? I'm not going to get some father trying to hit me at the school gates over your rampant, infant magnetism?"

"No, this is Georgia." Theo sounded thoroughly depressed. "She sits on me all the time without warning me. It's what girlfriends do."

"Who told you that?" Jan asked.

"No one told me _exactly_," Theo considered, "But I remember Denny saying that Nick's girlfriend sat on him from a great height."

Livvy was grumpily getting up when Denny snatched her back down and enforced her human shield position on top of him by wrapping his arms round her waist. Nick noted that she looked far from unhappy about this. While Jan and Rosalee face-palmed and Monroe and Hank shared low 'busted' mumblings and looked at different places on the carpet, Nick searched for Denny's gaze, which was hidden firmly behind Livvy.

"Stay there. Good girl."

"She sha― sat on me from a great height?" Nick repeated quietly. "Do you know something I don't? Because I was under the impression that she'd just decided to move without leaving any contact details."

Denny peeked apologetically from his hiding place. "Um… you might say that's the same thing. Sorry you had to hear certain tiny people blurting that I'd said that…but… it's nothing I haven't said to your face, is it?"

Nick shrugged, not knowing quite what to say, for a moment. He had a point. It was inevitable that his friends would discuss him. They all discussed each other, to a point. And nothing had been said that Denny wouldn't tell him straight up… it was just a bit of a shock to be reminded that he still missed Juliette, just as he thought he was coming to terms with the end of an era. Clearly not quite yet, then. "Don't worry about it," he mumbled. "I'll just get another beer."

"Nick…"

"Den – it's alright." And it was. He just fancied a drink before they got into anything that was properly mind-bending with Livvy. He grabbed a large beer and unbent from the fridge with a violent startle to find Jan standing next to the open door. "Crap!"

"Pass the fish while you're in there, will you? White packet, bottom drawer."

Nick fumbled for it and passed it out. "No pizza for you?"

"I might have a slice if there's one left over." Jan whipped out frying and sauce pans and a chopping board and started preparing his own meal at dizzying speed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Nick reflected. "I needed the sleep, I think."

"You think?"

He cringed and tried for a conciliatory grin. "I'll go to bed early tonight too, I promise."

Jan shot him a sideways look and dug the fish out of the bag. "Good."

"I'm meeting Mrs Presley tomorrow morning. She's agreed to cooperate."

"That _is _good news. Because we have an APB out on her husband. Don't be surprised if she's back at the precinct offering to cooperate a little earlier – depending on the quality of her relationship with her husband, of course." Jan looked over his shoulder to check that Warwick's ears were otherwise engaged. "The CCTV footage was useless, of course – full woge – but we've got a statement from John Warrington that's going to put him behind bars for a considerable time. What time's she coming into the precinct?"

Nick swigged his beer. "She's meeting me on Freemont Bridge. At eight."

"Nick, just bend over this fish a moment for me, will you?"

He did, a little confused as to why a fish needed such close supervision. As he leant over, Jan flicked the mackerel up and back by the tail and Nick was assaulted by a faceful of smelly, wet pain that was so sudden that he hit the deck, completely bewildered. "What… what…?"

"Jan! God – that was rather hard!" Denny called from the front room.

Jan mused upon the mackerel, thoughtfully. It hung at a U-bend from his finger-tips. "You're right. It'll take hours to fillet that. Pizza it is."

Nick pulled himself up to his feet, waiting for his eyes to uncross. "Yeah – let's all lament the already-dead mackerel. What the hell was that for?"

"Hmmmm.. let's see. Ignoring the half-day ruling. There was as reason for that, Nick, as you found. Running unarmed into gunfire. _Twice_. Arranging to meet the wife of a known lunatic on a bridge, without backup… I did promise you a slap round the face with a cold fish if you kept infringing the light duty rule, and well… there it is."

Nick rubbed his face. "That was… years ago!"

"Three days, Nick."

"And I thought it was a figure of speech!"

"Did you?" Jan gave him a genuinely friendly smile, but the glimmer of intent in his eyes was slightly sinister. "Well, hear this. If you want to go fucking around with any more of my instructions, I'll confiscate your anti-pheromone pills, strip you, and tie you under the mistletoe at Sears. Is that understood?"

Nick gulped. "You would… wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely. But you're off light duties – clearly that's about as useful a policy as a chocolate teapot. We'll work something else out long term, and talk backup cover in the morning. I'm in the mood for a night off."

"Ok." Nick rinsed his face under the tap and followed giddily, just glad that he hadn't spilled all his beer. He was just as keen to work something out long term as Jan: part of him was desperate to tell the Captain what he could do, now that he was in no-secrets mode. How, exactly, he had no idea. _Hey, you know all those closed cases? Well, I have this weird instinct… I see animals._ Yes. Very smooth. But he couldn't keep going as he was – it was ridiculous. And it was no more fair on Jan in half-way house than it was on him, both of them having to hide everything all the time. Add Hank into the mix when he got promoted – because he would – and it would turn into one big Grim/m nightmare.

They had to work _something_ out. Besides, he didn't fancy any more fish-slaps.

**X x X**

"Sean! Thank you for meeting me early." Remus trotted out of departures, his hand outstretched. "Apologies for completely fucking up my flight calculations, but I was tired. 11 hour flights, 9 hour time differences… it was doing my head in."

"It's fine," Sean said stiffly, having dropped everything and done 80 getting to the airport. "How was your flight?"

"Terrible. Many children, regrettably full of sugar and nowhere to run to. But that is flights for you, and thank you for asking!"

Sean nodded and swept across the concourse, leading Remus to the car. They had much to discuss. Like the fact that he had no contingency plan for being rejected by the Grimm. That he had no idea what he would do long term if Nick couldn't let the water flow under the bridge, and his companions chose to stand by him, freezing him out. That would be a less pleasant part of his brief with Remus, but it had to be covered. "I take it from your earlier arrival time that we could discuss plans tonight?"

"Hell, no. I may have a useless mental timetable calculator, but it was still an 11-hour flight. I have slightly modified my evening plan to include two whiskies, but otherwise my straight-to-bed policy still stands."

Sean cursed inwardly. God he needed to have that conversation – get a plan in place. Having had a pretty good day with both making amends with Miller in the morning and working well with Jan during the day, it wasn't a connection he was prepared to lose. Not on a strategic basis. And now, not on a personal basis, either. He sighed, and walked a little faster, concealing his disappointment.

"How do you make your coat do that?"

Sean looked down at the lesser of his several trenches and frowned. "Excuse me?"

"When you move, you swoosh. You do not trip yourself up and nearly get killed. If I wear a coat that long, it develops a vendetta against my knees."

"It's just the way I wear them, Remus."

"Is it a Royal thing? To properly rule, first you must swoosh?"

"Get in the car!" Sean was still smiling as he pulled out of the terminal. "Why the hell do I put up with you?"

**X x X**

It eventually took three of them to get the little people to bed: Rosalee took Carianne upstairs while Denny and Jan wrestled with Matty and Theo. Nick picked himself up off the floor by the couch and sat on it, next to Livvy. He was just wondering how to bring up that difficult topic, 'so, you're an Andersen', when in true form, she did it for him.

"I told my mom that you'd seen me go pink when I was mad. I didn't know I did that, you see. She asked me if you turned blue when I made you mad."

Nick was curious. "Do I?"

"No. Though I notice that your eyes take on this sort of… silver steely gleam when you're pissed."

"What does the… lack-of-blueness prove?"

"Well it's moot now, because I know you're a Grimm, but at the time, mom said 'he's the other thing – not an allwissender – stay away."

"The 'other thing' being a Grimm, right?" Monroe offered. "That sounds pretty typical of the one-time Andersen-Grimm relations."

"They sound smooth." Hank chuckled into his beer.

Monroe took a deep breath. "Look at it this way – the brothers Grimm and HCA were just… poster boys, if you like, for their species. But it all got a little competitive. I'm sure they never even met in real life, but they were more than likely aware of what each other was in the background, and they would not leave their publishers alone. On the one hand, you had the Grimms – born into poverty, raised to be librarians, obsessed with folklore, and trying to weave the rich thread of wesen existence into tales of warning. Then you have Hans, stinking rich, writing fluffy tales, and virtually being funded by the Danish Royalty. The literal human Royalty, that is – Friederick, or Frederick, or whatever. This did not make for a mutually respectful relationship."

"Andersen tales are _not_ fluffy."

Nick and Rosalee bit back grins. Nick baited her, seeing the first hint of pink blooming around her ears. "What do you call them?"

"They are a softened view of the troubles that humans have had with basic emotions since the dawn of time. The little Mermaid – the dangers of wanting to be something desperately different. The Emperor's New Clothes – the dangers of being blinded by the need for the approval of others―"

Hank spluttered. "I think you may be reading too much into that. I always thought of that particular story as 'don't be a gullible fricking fool.' Seriously – being told that naked is the new black?"

"Some lessons never die," Livvy pointed out. "My mom has just made an insane amount of money bringing the princess and the pea into the 21st century."

Rosalee sat as upright as her bump would allow, driving an elbow suddenly into Nick's ribs. "Oh, sorry honey. Your mom is Tuvé Andersen? _Dr _Tuvé Andersen?"

"I'm afraid so. Esteemed authoress of 'High Maintenance women and the men that love them."

Everyone looked at Hank.

"Hey! They weren't all high maintenance, alright? I learnt from some of my experiences…"

"I love that book!" Rosalee squealed. "Oh my God – it taught me so much about the wisdom of hiding my insane female demands."

"Um… really?"

Nick laughed at the venomous look Rosalee shot Monroe. "Isn't that the story where the princess lies on top of about 100 mattresses and can still feel a pea underneath them? And the Prince goes 'my god she's sensitive, I must marry her?'"

Livvy nodded proudly. "That's the one."

Nick stared. "It's an insane story! What rational girl would consent to going to sleep on something likely to topple over in the middle of the night? And why would a guy date her?"

"There's no romance in some people," Denny observed sadly, re-joining them at the pizza table and grabbing a warm beer. "It's not a health and safety story, it's about wanting to be with someone who notices everything."

Livvy beamed warmly upon the half-Siegbarste. "Totally right." Then glared at Nick. "At least there's an emotional message there, about improving the condition of the soul. What does little Red Riding Hood teach us? 'stick to the paths, you moron'."

Monroe chuckled stiffly. "No, actually, the message is that you can't take people at face value, for there may be a dangerous creature beneath. Like a big bad wolf."

"Right. A big bad wolf, rendered invisible by an old lady's clothing."

Nick intervened. "Remember what I was trying to tell you about wesen? All the creatures in the Grimm tales are based on wesen. The Big Bad Wolf is a fictionalisation of people like Monroe. Blutbad."

Nick noticed Warwick still following the conversation: silent, but happy. Intrigued.

"Fierce, furious and dangerous," Monroe added. "But I'm wieder, which is effectively 'tame', if you like."

"You're a Blutbad?" Livvy looked interested all of a sudden. "So under all that flannel is a wolf?"

"He's only visible when he does a full woge," Hank explained. "And then it's damn scary, I'm telling you. He did it for me for demonstration and I must have cleared six feet off the back of my chair."

"And this is what the lady in the interrogation did?"

"My _mom_," Warwick said pointedly.

"Sorry. Your mom did the woge thing in interrogation." She glanced over at Nick. "How do you know if they're doing a full, or half, or… whatever?"

"Hank's usually my benchmark," Nick admitted. "If Hank can't see it, it's a half. If he can, it's full woge. Any human can see it."

Livvy looked uncertain, all of a sudden, and Nick gave her a light nudge. "You count as 'human', by the way."

"Oh, good. Well, I'm not sure what I saw, so… can someone do an example?"

Monroe rolled his eyes. Ok. Here's the half.

Nick felt Livvy's hand slip into his and he gave it a small squeeze as Monroe shifted quietly, and then back to human. "That was half."

"I didn't see anything!"

"Ok – so you can't see what a Grimm sees," Denny pointed out. "Good to know this, for reference purposes. Full woge now. But don't worry – Monroe's wieder, remember?"

"Wait – wait… I'm just grabbing pizza. In case I get scared."

"Sure," Monroe muttered. "The pizza will afford you total protection. Anyway, this is what you will have seen if she did a full woge."

Monroe shifted – not into full alpha, but certainly into the form that scared the living crap out of most creatures, including Nick first time he'd seen it, and certainly – from Hank's expression – bringing some scary memories back to the surface. Nick glanced sideways at Livvy, who was a little pale, but was nibbling thoughtfully on her pizza. Silence fell in the room while they awaited her verdict.

"Hmmm… no. she didn't look like that at all. More blue, and bony."

"Excuse me." Denny stumbled to the back door, laughing into his fist as Monroe gaped at her.

Nick gaped. "Doesn't anything rattle your cage?"

"Sure it does. You've seen that yourself!" Livvy looked hurt for a moment. "Loneliness, being misunderstood – all that. _That_ scares me. But Monroe's not giving off an air of menace. It's because you're a wiener, right?"

"Back soon!" Hank went to join Denny outside, helping Rosalee to her feet and easing her out as she giggled her treacherous socks off.

"Wieder," Nick corrected mildly, but felt that they'd got the important part of the discussion done, at least. So you pick up on … airs? Feelings?"

"Yeah. A little more detailed than that. But not much more. Somewhere between surmising and feeling. You can work out a lot of what's going through people's heads." She'd reclaimed her hand, but smiled at him. "You're a _lot_ better than you were this morning, for example." She got up and went to pour herself a drink.

True. Nick stretched, feeling very relaxed. Monroe reached over and ruffled his hair, which he couldn't stand, but he let it go.

"That's good to hear. Which were the good bits?"

Nick pretty much rolled out his day, tactfully leaving out the details of Livvy's ex – only the salient part of smacking the pudding in his face.

"It sounds like you feel like Nick when you're doing things that make you feel good about yourself. And I'm not talking pizza and beer, here. I'm talking conscience. Self-comfort. Reaching out and people letting themselves being reached, if that made any kind of sense at all."

It did. Total sense. Nick laughed with relief – it was like he had a weapon now, to roll back the Grimm and roll back the nervousness of what was ahead of him. He just needed to keep reaching out.

**X x X**

The rest of the evening disappeared and the morning came round way too fast. Nick vaguely kept his promise to Jan to go to bed at a reasonable time, but felt really cheerful in the morning anyway. He showered, slipped on fresh clothes (Denny had very kindly collected yet more from his apartment earlier the previous day), and trotted down the stairs. It was just Denny and Carianne up.

U2's 'With or Without You' came onto the radio and Nick stood back in the hallway, waiting for the compulsive air-drumming that this particular song always brought out in Denny, who was washing up in vest and boxers. It was just fun to watch – he always really got into it. Denny started out with the slight head-nodding and foot-tapping through the low-pitched intro – Nick had never caught the lyrics - then caved into the rhythm, drying his hands and grabbing a pair of spoons. As 'through the storm we reach through the shore…' fluted through the kitchen, he took up a professional pace on an invisible kit, hitting the beat flawlessly and enthusiastically, making Carianne giggle delightedly at him and wave her arms around from her counter-top baby bouncer.

Still unaware Nick was there, Denny grinned over at Carianne. "What – you want to join in? Well c'mon then…" He popped the spoons down, unstrapped her and scooped her up one-armed, grabbing her bottle with the other hand and dancing her round the kitchen, lip-synching to 'and you give yourself away…'

Clearly forgetting he was holding the bottle, Denny resumed drumming and sprayed milk everywhere, "Oops – sorry, love…" wiping it off her face with the heel of his hand. After an abortive attempt to get her to drink, he reclaimed his spoon, dancing as annoyingly well as he drummed.

Without even looking to his left, Nick felt Livvy's open-mouthed presence arrive next to him and reached over with a single finger to gently tap her jaw shut. Then tilted his hand into a point towards the back door. She scuttled out urgently, making him grin. Towards the end of the song, Nick traipsed in with a knock on the post between stairwell and kitchen.

"What, no singing?"

Denny laughed. "Mate, if you want to empty a karaoke club at the end of the night, I'm the bloke you put on the mike. Nah – no singing. Hold small for me for a sec? Just got to finish this off…"

Nick reached over for Carianne. "Can you put up with me for a few minutes?" A happy, gummy grin said 'Sure!' and she put the seal of approval on things by sliming the side of his neck and tugging his jacket collar out of place.

It was then that he saw the scars on Denny's back. They were long, white slash-marks stretching out over the top of the shoulders and along his sides, between the material of the deep-cut vest and his arms. That was a huge area. For a moment, he just stared, then forgot all tact and diplomacy in the moment of shock. "Den! What the hell…?"

"What?"

Nick flapped his hand at the white marks along Denny's upper left side and Denny raised his arms in confusion as if to see if he'd spilt something disgusting on himself.

"Those!"

Denny inspected the space under his shoulders. "They're armpits, Nick. I'm sure you've come across some, from time to time?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Another topic for another day again, right?"

Denny grinned wryly. "I see that Jan's ridiculous-response tactic doesn't work on _everyone_ to steer round an unwanted conversation."

"It looks like a painful bit of history, Den."

"It was. The scars were made by a motorbike chain. Look, I'm not shutting you out, Nick. I will tell you all this stuff sometime, it's just that certain conversations have to be had with Jan before anyone else. Given that I'm sharing his space, and all that. Sorry. At least you know now why I never go sleeveless. Forgot you guys were still here."

Nick felt rather embarrassed he'd even made an issue of it. "Sorry back at you."

"That said…" Denny looked uncomfortable. "That conversation with Jan is likely to be soon, and… I'm going to tell him stuff that's going to give him pause. If things get bloody awkward around here, can I stop in at yours for a bit?"

"Sure!" Nick hoped it didn't come to that. He couldn't imagine Jan kicking him out over anything he'd done in the past. Particularly as he'd changed so much.

"Thanks, Nick. I really appreci―what the hell's Livvy doing outside?"

"Cooling off."

"Hot flush?"

Nick chuckled. "Something like that."

Denny took Carianne back. "Well tell her I'll turn the bloody thermostat down! Weird woman. It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there."

Nick went out back, closed the door and caught Livvy's eye. "Safe to come back in?"

"The drumming… didn't help my crush," she spluttered.

"I noticed that."

"Could you persuade him to put some jeans on, or something?"

Nick laughed. "And how do I do that without one of us looking really weird? Look – just come back in and I'll flop you on the couch. We'll say you felt faint from lack of wages, or something."

Livvy gave him a flinty look as he hoiked her off her feet. "Yeah. Really convincing excuse. You hang out too much with Jan!"

**X x X**


	11. Too little water under the bridge

**Hi folks – and here's 11 and moving closer to the action!**

**There is a degree of French in this, but – as with the Dutch - I've tried to integrate it in a way within character thoughts so that their feelings and reflections pretty much directly translate what is actually being said. So, if you know Dutch or French, cool – if not, you're missing nothing in terms of plot! Nahaliel – thanks several million times for the French help! And SSC – thanks very much for the Dutch corrections! Have re-posted 10 with the minor points you picked up on last time. I'm always grateful for the linguistic help – I'm still a bit of a rookie in that language, lol.**

**Anyway, as ever, I am so grateful for the reviews, favourites and follows, and I hope you continue to enjoy as we plunge forth into the revelations section!**

**X x X**

"I focus better when full of bacon," Remus observed, pulling the napkin over his lap and frowning in disapproval at Sean's slender breakfast of toast, egg, and coffee. "How do you stay upright during the day?"

"I cope," Sean muttered. He was about to plunge straight into business when he remembered that certain pleasantries were expected first. "Sleep well?"

"Like a sloth, thank you." Remus winked at him and swept off a huge tumbler of orange juice in one go. "I will go re-fill this tiddly vessel while you rehearse your plan of action for me."

Sean finished off his toast while Remus emptied the breakfast bar of its juice supply. His plan... well, he didn't really have one, now. Plan A had been to observe Jan and Denny's advice to email Nick to explain that he had information about the death of his aunt that he wished to disclose to him discreetly. And then meet him - Remus in tow - to explain what had really happened. Unlike Remus, he'd barely slept. How he moved from this public meet to confessing that he'd recently been in touch with Juliette, that he was responsible (in the most part) for her scratch, the subsequent memory loss, the kiss, the obsession...

"You look very troubled, my friend." Remus patted his shoulder as he reclaimed his seat in the quiet corner of the hotel's breakfast bar. "Let me make this easier for you. Put yourself in Nick's shoes. Think of the most dastardly thing you have done, through his eyes, and tell me about that first. And then work backwards with me to the whys and wherefores of how you came to do that."

The older, brown-eyed gaze was mild and sympathetic, but nonetheless Sean choked on starting. He began with the Zaubertrank used on Hank to get to Nick and his key...

...Eventually, Remus, a little grey around the edges, sat back in his seat and ran his hands through his hair. "Nou... this is exactly the kind of mess that puts me off my bacon! Ach, wat gevaarlijk..."

"I'm sorry?"

"I am spluttering at how dangerous this is! Your biggest problem is that you have – perhaps through all the best intentions - crapped upon all three areas of Nick's life. He's been an unsupported cop, an attacked Grimm and lost his fiancée. If the damage had been confined to a smaller area..."

"I'm aware of the damage!" Sean hadn't meant to snap and was about to grudgingly apologise to the man who had flown 11 hours to help him at a moment's notice, but his lapse didn't appear to have been held against him.

"I do not say any of this to make you more... contrite. Mostly, I think aloud when I need a strategy. You see - the biggest problem we have here is the width of the distrust cavern that you are about to march him across. He has to get past the fact that you have always known what happened to Juliette, and did not tell him. He also has to forget the past - you using Hank to get to his key. And then he has to put this to one side somehow and look to the future with some faith that you are on the right side." Remus dipped his face into his hands. "I know that you are desperate to completely unburden yourself, but you cannot do all of this at once. Earn trust in one area, and then tackle another. Build a bridge across the cavern. You understand?"

"I do," Sean muttered, "and that was my first instinct. But my worry is that by revealing more secrets later... he will distrust what I have managed to persuade him to accept."

"Sean. The only way you can reveal the whole truth to him right now without him going fully Grimm on you - and I mean, experiencing the true force of his rage through his eyes - is to lock him in a room and talk to him through an intercom. And even then - when is it safe to let him go? It is a little like trapping a wasp under a glass. So long as cross wasp does not suffocate, the first thing it will do on release is zoom out and sting you somewhere very unpleasant. This will not build the trust relationship that you are hoping to engender, hé?"

"_You_ persuaded to tell me the truth," Sean muttered, almost resentfully, which he knew was ridiculous.

"I persuaded you to have a more open relationship with some of the key people in your life, so that you could change your situation. I don't remember suggesting anything that was going to fry your baby-conscience. Whether your Grimm tries to hold back and listen or whether he reaches for the nearest axe is not the point - if you make eye contact with him while he is that angry... we are looking at a meltdown in you, whether he means that to happen, or not. He is not a full Grimm, Sean. He will not be able to control what happens if you open yourself that wide, that quickly. This is not just about Nick 'losing his temper'."

Sean felt hollow, and stupid. He seriously _had_ only been thinking in terms of dealing with a fight-adept, angry Nick and being strong enough to subdue Nick if necessary to explain things. It hadn't even occurred to him that the non-corporeal part of him would be more at risk. God knows what he'd have done if he hadn't Remus to talk to...

"Why are you helping me so much?" he asked suddenly.

Remus smiled and thieved the remains of his coffee. "In many ways, you have much in common with your Grimm. A family that does not stand behind you in a way that you need it when you are young, yet still having your own sense of direction. Having to make decisions that do not make total sense in either part of your life – as Prince or Captain. In many ways, you are what Nick might have become in ten years - if he did not have the friends that he has. You have _needed_ to be furtive and underhand – Nick has big brothers. The Giants. His Blutbad friend. His partner. There _is_ hope for you, Sean Renard, if you have companions. Your situation is not all of your own making."

"Thank you." Sean didn't know what else to say. And even if he did, there was this unacceptable lump in his throat that needed to be washed down. He crisply reclaimed his stolen coffee, making Remus grin. "Where do I start?"

"You start, my friend, by letting your Grimm know that you are part of the wesen world, and that you are fighting towards the same aim – good, peaceful order. For this, you need ah… god, I don't know the English for this so well. You need…faith gestures?"

"Perfect English," Sean contradicted. "And I have two. A temporary wesen adoptive parent – Dr Zimmermann - for the Geier child that he is protecting on his case. We spoke yesterday evening. She is more than happy to take him in today."

"It's a good start. A weight off the Grimm's mind will predispose him towards you well, particularly if the child likes her. Does she know your Grimm?"

Sean shrugged. "I can't see how she would. But that's beside the point – it will at least show who I ally myself with."

"It's a good start," Remus admitted. "And we have seen how open he is to befriending the waifs and strays among the wesen. He will not care that you expose yourself as a Hexenbiest if he sees that you are a 'good' Hexenbiest. And the other gesture?"

"I have tracked down Grey's -sorry, Miller's mother. She would very much like to see him."

Remus smiled, and it was a fond, approving smile that might have changed the direction of his entire life if someone had aimed one like that at him many, many years ago. "This is very good. But some advice, perhaps?"

"Please do...?"

"Give her the means to re-introduce herself into Miller's life at her own pace. Supply his address and leave it for them to reunite. Some silent philanthropy on your part may make all the difference, here."

"And my Juliette problem? The kiss? The zaubertrank?"

Remus' wince did not go unnoticed. "Take baby steps, Sean. Lead that unhappy story with your attempt as a "Hexenbiest" to wake Juliette up and return her to him, then explain the unfortunate results - your mutual obsession - hence being reluctant to tell him that you were part of her reason for disappearing. You could perhaps say that you had hoped to have found a resolution before having to come clean to him. He is likely to understand this."

Sean gulped inwardly. It was a little more complicated than that. He had made Juliette disappear - at her request. He was the whole reason for her disappearance, and knew exactly where she was.

"...When he gets past that little revelation and has seen the benefits of having a Wesen Captain... you can lay on the truth a little thicker. But to take traffic over a crevasse, first you need a bridge."

"What is it with you and caverns and crevasses?"

"Jealousy. They are beautiful things and I live in a flat country. The best the Netherlands can offer is a pile of sand dunes in Catwijk." Remus rolled his eyes sullenly. "That said, there is a rather nice pancake house there."

Sean returned to the breakfast bar, re-loading his plate, which he never, ever did, in the process of pouring himself more coffee. He returned to their table and slid the plate down just as his mobile went. He noticed a new message from Juliette under her nom-de-secret 'Maiden', but had to connect the call from his brother before reading.

"Eric?"

"Is there no end to your incompetence?"

Sean crunched his fingers around the flimsy plastic of his cell. "Is there no beginning to your personal charm?" he countered, and had to turn his back on Remus, whose supportive glee was infectious and who was faking pokes in the air with pom-poms. He switched to French in the vague hope of keeping some of the conversation private. "Quel est le problème?"

"Spelbreker!" Remus muttered, and Sean steeled himself against his new mentor's cheeky influence. He knew that one word – _killjoy_ – from Theo, directed firmly at Miller on baby-beeber Sportsday for not allowing him to bamboozle the Blutbad guy into handing over more than one ice cream to 'share with friends'.

He fought hard to reclaim the customary ice in his tone. Eric could hear a smirk in a voice over two continents and through four blinds across a telephone mouthpiece. There was an irritable clearing of throat on the other end of the line.

"C'etait peut-etre un peu dur."

"You were being a little harsh?" Sean rolled his eyes. He just wanted Eric to spit out what had gone wrong and leave him alone to focus on more immediate matters. But it wasn't time yet to alienate his brother either, not while he still stood either side of the Royal line. "Contentez-vous de me dire ce que vous voulez?"

"Vous êtes censé apprivoiser le Grimm. Pourquoi n'avez-vous pas encore sa clé ?"

"Il garde bien caché pour une raison!" Sean snapped. If it were that easy to get the key from Nick, he'd like to see Eric try it. And he had – sending several assassins and thieves to hurt Nick, steal it or stalk him. To absolutely no avail. Nick hid it well for a reason. Sean wondered if Nick even knew what it was that he was hiding by keeping that key so safe.

"Vous avez envoyé beaucoup de gens pour lui prendre la clé de force. Arrêtez d'essayer, ou vous subirez les conséquences."

"Stop attacking the Grimm or suffer the consequences?" Eric echoed. "Are you threatening me, Sean?"

"No, I'm giving you an early way out of an ugly, ugly situation. I suggest you listen." Sean snapped the phone off and turned in his seat to find that Remus had written on his empty plate, in ketchup, Sean 2: Eric 0. He found this strangely satisfying and shared his first fully open smirk with Remus, even after the fraught conversation with Eric. Brothers they may be, but also Royals – and distant people. He would never be 'tu' to Eric, only ever 'vous'. Their blood relationship was more like a restriction than a bond.

Remus seemed to sense his moment of regret through his moment of levity at the plate-side cheerleading. "I met your brother once, accidentally. Public function in Vienna – he was there as a leader of the chamber of commerce. I was there in my official capacity. Such a slimy, self-loving, man. He made my fists itch within seconds. If you really want to annoy him, put him on a mailing list for private plastic surgeons. See how long his self-love lasts when he drowns under the weight of junkmail offers to reduce his under-eye bags."

**X x X**

Warwick stumbled out of the bed they'd made him in one of the spare rooms, grateful to find a towel outside his door. Across the corridor, he spotted the open bathroom door and headed for it at a rapid hobble, determined to be in and out as quickly as he could manage, given how many people there were hanging around the massive house. As he'd discovered at Nick and Hank's place, lying in the bath and using a detachable hose was do-able, but not very rapid. Not being allowed to get his plaster wet was getting a little old. Still, he managed to get himself clean, if not completely dry, and made his way back to the spare room.

He passed the Lieutenant in the corridor, wearing a small towel and a friendly but bleary morning smile. Warwick had chatted to him awhile the previous night after he'd emerged from putting his children to bed, but they'd been sitting down. He tried not to boggle openly. He had never seen anyone so HUGE. Warwick's head just about reached the sixth level of Jan's ribcage. Ribs which had seen significant repair work on the left, he noted, however tidily done, with white reconstructive surgery scars against five of his ribs. Whatever had happened to him, Warwick hoped that no one had tried to cram him into a standard ambulance afterwards.

"All done in there?" the big man asked, nodding at the bathroom. "Great. If you're able to, I'd welcome a swift appearance downstairs. We need to have a chat with you about some advances on the case which may be difficult for you to―"

"Oi! Mufasa! You getting a move on up there? Some of us need to get clean too, you know?"

Despite his apprehension, Warwick had to bite back a smile at Jan's slightly long-suffering expression as he mouthed: _who the hell is Mufasa?_

"Lion King," Warwick muttered. "Simba's father."

"Really?" Jan rolled his eyes and raised his voice. "Morning, Shrek! I'll be about two and a half minutes, _as usual_."

There was a brief, indignant pause in which Warwick heard stifled giggling from the kitchen, rising up through the stairwell.

"SHREK?"

"Mufasa? I'll give you a shout when the shower's free, Denny. And for God's sake, put a nicotine patch on."

Warwick grinned as he headed into the bedroom to find clean clothes laid out for him. After two nights in protective custody, he was grateful to be wearing something fresh. And Black. He slipped on the enormous thermal top with 'Huge Dude' printed on the front, rolled up the sleeves and pulled on the jeans left out. They were cut off, and a slit had been made on his plaster side so he could get them on properly. The belt was very necessary. He slid down the stairs on his ass to join the others in the kitchen. Nick smiled and pulled out a stool at the breakfast table for him.

"Denny tells me that he's offered you driving lessons, once all the drama's over?"

Warwick beamed. "Yeah! We chatted about all kinds of stuff." He scratched the back of his head. "Like… maybe… not going back to college at all. Just yet."

Nick looked vaguely relieved for some reason. "Well… it opens up your immediate options, anyway, not trying to find a college to accommodate your …"

"Brain?" Livvy supplied.

"That, yeah. And your 'dissertation' subject." Nick looked at him speculatively. "Why the huge change of mind?"

Denny stepped in for him. "We had a bit of chat, while you were catching up on yourself yesterday. He's got enough qualifications to last him till his late twenties. What he needs now is life. Any job or internship he goes for, they'll only say 'you've had no real-world experience'. So he's going to go find some – with a little help from Monroe and Rosalee. He can think about going back to college when he's of actual college age. In the meantime – driving lessons."

Nick winked at him. "Better let Jan give you parking lessons, though. I think the garbage pails of Portland have suffered enough."

Denny clipped Nick lightly upside the back of the head, just hard enough to pitch him face-first into his Cheerios, to Livvy's barely disguised amusement. Warwick watched as Nick mildly wiped the milk and a couple of stubborn oaty rings off his face with a sheet of kitchen towel, clearly used to a level of affectionate, low-level violence from his friend.

Jan appeared immaculate at the bottom of the stairs and pulled a chair up at the kitchen table. Warwick felt the tone around the table sober immediately, and Denny looked almost relieved as his phone rang at that precise moment, even if he seemed irritated to note the name on the caller recognition. He wandered off into the corridor to take the call, taking the baby with him. She kept herself busy while he was on the phone by tipping sideways, grabbing the collar of his teeshirt and peering down it.

"…Gerry? Yeah… you know it's only just gone seven, right…? No, I have no problems with your 'consultative approach', but like I said… slightly before office hours, eh?..."

Warwick suddenly felt three pairs of sober eyes on him: dark green, grey and brown. "You're going to give me bad news, aren't you?"

"We've had to issue an all-police-bulletin – an APB – to round up your father," Nick explained. "And I'm due to meet your mom at eight to take her into protective custody. I hate to tell you this, but even if she gives us enough information to make some kind of deal…"

Warwick stared down at his empty plate. "I know you're keeping me informed, but I'm not sure how much I want to hear."

Jan loaded toast onto his plate which he didn't think he'd be able to touch. "Eat, Warwick. You needed to hear that, at least. We're starting to connect the dots in this case. It's looking increasingly like your father has been orchestrating a situation where he has taken money from other people to pay for 'medicines' which are never going to appear. It also looks like he killed your labmate."

Warwick gaped. "Henry? I thought Blake and Irvine…"

"I'm talking about Mike Sansom," Nick said.

"Oh… Mike. God. I thought of Henry Morecombe as my 'labmate', but he was a nice enough guy. Under all the nervousness." Warwick sucked his air back in. "He's dead? Mike's dead as well?"

"Murdered by your father while in Geier form, so we can't use it as evidence, but we do have testimonies from others which have placed him firmly at the centre of things." Nick leant down and caught his gaze. "I'm so sorry – this is nightmarish. You're not alone, though. And Jan has heard from the Captain this morning. He's found someone who would like to take you in while things get resolved, longer-term. Sergeant Wu is on his way to take you to her place. Livvy will go with you."

Warwick snapped his head up in a panic, not wanting to be separated from Nick. "When will I see you?"

"Tonight, I'll stop round. Don't worry."

Warwick fought against letting his smarting eyes overflow. Life with the Grimm had kept him on an even keel these last few days. He felt wanted. Last night was… the most fun he'd _ever _had. And he believed both Monroe and Denny when they told him that they'd keep an eye out – keep him safely occupied once the storm had passed. But the storm hadn't passed yet, and he was going off to stay with … some woman? He felt Livvy's hand on his.

"Look, this sounds horrible and I know that you'd rather stay here and get puked on by Carrie 24/7 if need be, but you need continued protection, and Nick and I need to go finish this case for you – get it over and done with. It's not for much longer. No-one wants you to feel out on a limb, or scared, or alone."

"I'm not going!"

"Warwick," Nick said lightly. "You are, really. I need to do my job. And I need to know that you're safe while I'm doing it. Or I can't focus."

What freaked Warwick out slightly was that in all of this ambivalence and apprehension, the only thing he wasn't worried about was what would happen to his parents. That made him feel bad – his lack of emotion on that front. But he didn't understand why he didn't feel even worse about that looking into Nick's eyes, which should've mirrored the worst side of him back to him. It occurred to him that the ice cold feeling he had in the pit of his stomach was about Nick meeting his mom on the bridge.

"Can you refuse to meet her? Make her see you at the station, or something?"

Jan put his hand on his shoulder. "What's the relationship like between your parents? Are you worried about a trap?"

"Yes! No… I don't know." Warwick sagged. "They're not close. They're kind of like 'we're together for the kid', only that's not true either. But I don't think she'd flip on him. But I don't think she's a natural trap-setter, either. She's too highly strung. If she's meeting you, it's because she's decided she wants out of… whatever the hell they've got themselves involved in."

"She wants to see you," Livvy said quietly.

Warwick tried for a smile. It was a kind thing to say. Livvy believed it. His mom probably did too. But when it came down to it, even if he ended back up with her with no dad on the scene, life would be one long uncomfortable silence.

Denny strode back into the kitchen, still on the phone and desperately gesturing at Jan to retrieve his daughter from her almost upside-down position in his tee-shirt. Jan plucked her gently away, sitting her in one hand, the other around her front. She drummed indignantly on his hand until he flicked her nose lightly with a fingertip, then she settled. The sight broke Warwick from his gloom. While she was so obviously Jan's little girl, all green eyes and tuft of dark hair, she seemed to have absorbed a great deal of Denny's feistiness by osmosis, while still regarding him as her pet.

Whoever Denny was talking to, he wasn't happy with them.

"… well that sounds like a JBDI decision to me. JBDI? 'Just bloody do it'. Look – you've got a good idea there which is going to cost less than 0.25% of total budget and which has clear benefits. The moment you start 'inviting consultants to the table', you're going to shove that cost up to 2% for the sake of saying you've consulted experts…. No I'm not coming in at nine to discuss this! At eleven, sure. Don't forget I've got to drop the kids off…. excuse me?" Denny gritted his teeth at the yammering at the other end of the line. "Did you _seriously_ just say 'There's no 'I' in team?'… Really?... well bear _this _in mind, there are three U's in 'unhelpful fucker'!"

Denny clicked his phone off and slammed it on the kitchen table.

Jan gave Denny a sideways look. "He's not always like that, I promise. New role. Over-keen. Desperate to prove himself."

Denny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm familiar with the type. His nervousness could get expensive, though. He's got really good ideas for the incident room but won't do a damn thing until everyone's 'ratified' it. Arse. I'm getting a shower."

The doorbell rang and Livvy hopped down to answer it. Jan gave Warwick an encouraging smile.

"I know this isn't what you want right now, but are you ready to go?"

Warwick clenched his hands against the inevitable and decided to make the best of staying with whoever this lady was. Maybe if he remained calm and went with the flow as much as possible, he could prevent a stress woge. "So long as she's got a massive orange juice stock and a room with a lockable door… what's her name?"

"Dr Hilde Zimmermann."

Warwick saw Nick drop his toast but freeze on his kitchen stool. "Hilde Zimmermann?"

"Uh… you guys are making me worried. Is this a good thing? A bad thing…?"

Nick looked genuinely shaken. "She's a good woman – wesen. A nilpherdine. I met her a few months back when I had pneumonia…" He gave a nervous laugh and walked over to expose a white scar on his wrist. "She's a chemist by specialty but for god's sake, don't let her nurse you. That little mark is from her lovingly giving me an injection."

"No injections, then," Warwick agreed nervously. But still didn't get why Nick had suddenly gone so pale. But he didn't have time to think much more on it anyway: Livvy bundled him into one unmarked car with Wu and a uniformed officer, while Jan and Nick headed for a second car to the custody pick-up. He said goodbye quickly to Theo, who'd finally appeared blearily at the bottom of the stairs, yawning exactly how a tiny lion should (hair sticking up, no hand over mouth), and braced himself for 'Dr Zimmermann'.

Livvy and Sergeant Wu were chatty on the drive over to her place, which helped a lot, drawing him into an indepth discussion on the existence of wire gnomes, which existed only to entangle your ipod wires and make life hell when undoing Christmas lights. He had the distinct feeling that they were going for the least challenging topic of conversation humanly possible, but welcomed their thoughtfulness. Wu pulled up in the basement of a block of flats not far from the Fremont Bridge. It was plush and expensive-looking, which seemed promising. Wu stayed with the car while he and Livvy got the lift to the fifth floor. She'd barely rapped on Dr Zimmermann's door when it was swung open by a vast lady, slightly grey and in her forties, or so, very clearly visible even through the tiny gap in his hair at the front. .

She looked him up and down like he was a suspect package. "So this is the youthling I must look after, yes?"

"Um… Warwick," he mumbled, sticking his hand out. "Warwick Presley."

"You will call me Hilde. Come in, if you can see where you are going." Her Munich accent was strong.

Livvy shot him a sympathetic sideways look. "This may be for a few days, Dr Zimmermann… it's very good of you to―"

"Sit!" she instructed Warwick. "First, we will get you a drink. Second, we will cut your hair. I cannot discuss life and the cosmos with a mumbly curtain."

"WHAT? My hair's making a statement!"

"Yes, it is saying 'help, cut me!'"

"We don't… have to discuss life and the cosmos? We could talk about other things…" He found himself clutching his head pointlessly, trying to save his hair. There was something about this woman that told him that resistance was useless. "I could um… help you with some work?"

Quite unexpectedly, she beamed at him. "I would like that. I am doing a book of poetry. You can read and comment. I wish to know which are the particularly bad ones."

Livvy handed him her card and winked sympathetically at him. "This is my unregistered number. Call me if… things get a little heavy."

: : : : :

On the way to the bridge – a mere seven minute drive from Jan's, Nick fidgeted. Then fumbled. And drummed his fingers on his kneecaps. Zimmermann knew Renard? Did he know she was wesen? Did Renard know that they were acquainted, or…? God – he _hoped_ Renard knew she was wesen, and that he knew that because _he _was secretly―

"Nick! Stop fidgeting, or God help you, I _will _put the opera channel on."

"Is Renard Wesen?" It came out as a blurt and he noticed Jan's hands tighten just fractionally on the steering wheel. He glanced sideways to see his friend looking fixedly at the road ahead. It was a thing about Jan that he could always count upon: it was impossible to lie to him but, by the same token, he didn't give any bullshit out, either.

"Yes," Jan said quietly.

Nick blinked. Jan never kept secrets from him. Well… no. Not quite true. He'd managed to keep the secret of his Koninglowen species secret from him for six months while he'd been a rookie. "Why didn't you tell me? God, the stress it would've saved, knowing that the Captain could just instantly pass Warwick off to a 'safe' safehouse!"

Jan flicked a quick look at his watch and pulled over, then turned in his seat, looking serious. "Nick, I have known for less than 48 hours and respected his request to tell you when he was ready. I did set him a deadline to come clean. And I did tell you yesterday, when you came to me with concerns about Warwick's custody, to leave it with me and the Captain."

Nick huffed. All true. He felt like he should be mad about something, but Jan's absolute calm made him feel like a child throwing his toys out of the pram all of a sudden. Besides, he was relieved. Happy, almost, now that he'd gotten over the shock – those brief ponderings last night about a world in which Renard knew about him appeared to be coming closer to reality. But how would Renard react to him knowing of Hilde because he was a Grimm? He wondered what Livvy made of him. She seemed to come at people's secrets from a completely different angle – it would be interesting to know whether she picked up an air of menace from him in a way that she blatantly hadn't from Monroe the Wiener. The thought made him smirk out of the window. Eddie had really taken that in his stride, all things considered. But he did have a query.

"What is he? Because I have _never _seen him woge."

Jan started the car again. "That is one of many things that I'm sure he will want to tell you himself."

**X x X**

Sean glanced sidewards. "Do you have to eat that in the car?"

"I do, Sean, yes. As you may recall, I work better with a full stomach."

"Full of bacon―"

"Inderdaad – like this sandwich. Which is full of the bacon I didn't get to eat earlier because I was too busy being appalled by your Juliette revelations." Remus clutched his portable breakfast jealously and took a purposeful bite. "Just be grateful that I use ketchup for plate graffiti, not as a sandwich filler."

Sean tried to silence his inner Obsessive Compulsive Disorderly and ignored the crumbs falling like snow over Remus' lap and onto the leather of his upholstery. They were five minutes past the Fremont bridge and within minutes of getting to the precinct. If he could continue to breathe calmly through his nose for another few minutes, he wasn't likely to lose his cool before he could get the hand-vac out.

His phone rang, and the Bluetooth sent the call directly to his car phone. Jan. He tapped the touchscreen to accept the call. Jan spoke quietly. Not the quiet speech of a man conserving his voice (although he'd sounded like hell the previous day), but the murmur of a guy trying to keep a call discreet.

"Nick nearby?" Renard asked, and Jan gave an affirmative grunt. "Ok – this is a warning call of some sort. What's wrong?"

"Perhaps nothing – perhaps this is a good thing. But matters have accelerated. Nick knows Hilde Zimmermann – connected through Monroe and Rosalee. He was sick some months back with pneumonia. She was 'hiding' at the Wesen Wellness Centre when he stayed there for treatment. She took it upon herself to nurse him through it, apparently."

Sean stared slightly at the prospect of Hilde nursing anyone through anything. She didn't really do the 'light touch'. Except with test tubes full of Gemischtwesen medicine, with which she'd excelled before running into early retirement.

"What kind of woman is she?" Remus asked in the background.

"I have no idea. Nick has… reasonably fond memories of her. Apart from some injection she gave him."

"I'm not surprised," Sean murmured. "Thanks for the heads-up. I'll bring our conversation forward. What time are you meeting Presley?"

"Any moment now," Jan muttered. "I'm at South end of Bridge, Nick's in the middle. We're just waiting… ah – a car. Ok."

Sean was aware of hard staring coming from Remus' direction, and the stocky Dutchman was suddenly leaning forward in his seat. "Jan, wie zal je ontmoeten?"

"Anita Presley, de moeder van Warwick. Waroom?"

"Wie is haar man?"

"David Pres―"

"Sean, turn the car around."

Sean blinked. "What's the―"

"Turn it around, right now!" Remus barked, throwing his sandwich out of the window. "Back to the bridge. Are you armed?"

"Yes―"

"―Ja"

"I don't give two shits about the mother or even the father, but we need the man _he's_ working for." Remus suddenly looked very harassed, reaching for an inner pocket Glock that hadn't shown for a moment outside the jacket. "This is the problem with people like Maier – they do not pay attention to the intelligence I try to feed them. Jan – stick close to Nick. Do not remain on the centre of the bridge where you can be vulnerable. Take Mrs Presley to one side, at the road, get her straight into your car, get her somewhere invisible."

"Jan, call Wu – get back-up." Sean clicked off the call, finished his U-turn and did 85 back down the freeway to the bridge.

**X x X**

Nick didn't know what he was expecting when the car pulled up at the North end of the Bridge, but Anita Presley dutifully pushed her sunglasses up her nose and met him in the middle. He took her arm and patrolled her over to the unmarked car at the South side. She looked more twitchy and underfed than ever.

"When do I get to see my son?"

"We talked about this yesterday," Nick pointed out as quickly as possible, moving them a little quicker. He had a bad feeling about this, now. "If you can make a deal with the DA's office or if it proves that you had minimal involvement with your husband's activities, then we can look at witness protection custody. For _you_. Whether that includes Warwick or not depends upon him."

She flared blue at him and snarled. "You made me think that cooperating would allow me to see―"

"No, I told you that not cooperating would prevent you from getting anywhere near him. This way, you stand a chance of supervisory visits and custody in the future. The other way…"

"Who's going to look after him?"

Nick stalked straight ahead, almost pulling her with him now as he strode them off the bridge. "We'll keep you informed. Someone appropriate. Wesen."

"And this is your idea of being a Grimm?"

"This is my idea of being a cop, Mrs Presley. Shut up and keep walking, if all you're going to do is snipe."

"My husband disappeared yesterday morning."

"We know. We're looking for him." God, she was so flinty. So cold. How did Warwick turn out so warm?

"If you're already looking for him, why do you need what I have to say?"

"We don't, now. It's up to you to tell us what you can to keep out of jail."

Nick was well aware that he wasn't usually this curt with cooperative witnesses, but the previous night with Warwick – even though the kid hadn't said much during the whole evening – showed him how much the kid had missed out on basic companionship through his life. Something he could identify with… up to a point. Aunt Marie loved him, and acted like it. There were some hugs. There was a lot of sympathy and quiet listening in the early years after he'd lost his parents. She just wasn't there very much. And when she was, she'd disappear out in a hurry. And there were certain areas of growing pains that he couldn't share with her…

As they approached the car, Jan opened the back door. As she was now technically under arrest, Nick applied the zip-tie in front and folded her into the seat, strapping her in. Then he gave the door a good slam.

From the other side of the South Bridge, a car screeched to a halt and he snapped his head up and borrowed piece out, but it was the Captain's car. Renard jogged over, closely followed by… a guy that looked familiar… who was scanning the treeline by the bridge warily.

Sean nodded at Nick. "You alright?"

"We're fine," Nick replied. "We're just going to run her to witness protection and we'll be back at the precinct." Then he cleared his throat and bit the bullet. "I have some questions to ask about Warwick's custody arrangements. Could we…?"

"Yes," Renard said suddenly. "And many other questions besides, I would imagine."

Nick gave him a nervous smile. Weird – brave new world, right on his doorstep. "Thank you."

"Jan, would you take Mrs Presley back to WP? I need to hang on to Nick for a little while."

Jan grunted and got into the front seat of the unmarked car. Before leaving, he called back over his shoulder _be careful."_

Nick didn't know whether that was directed at him, or the Captain. Nonetheless, he walked over to Renard, trying to keep his expression completely neutral. "I know Dr Zimmermann. She's a good woman. I'm glad Warwick's staying with her.

"We go back a long way," Renard rumbled. "There's no point in me denying―"

"He thought it would be wise to place Warwick with someone who knows something of the art of hiding," the other guy cut in and walked over to offer his hand. "We met before, very briefly, but you were escorting Jan's friend into hospital. We never spoke. Remus van Maarten. I was―"

"Jan's old boss," Nick finished for him. "Interpol, right?"

"Among other varied, sometimes irksome responsibilities. But it is for those that I am here. And to see Sean, of course."

Nick smiled. He'd almost forgotten that his Captain had a first name. Theo was the only one that used it, to his knowledge. He met the Captain's eye mildly. "You know that Warwick is wesen, right?"

Renard nodded and seemed ready to go on but Nick had a much more intense flash of that cold, watched feeling he'd experience in the basement of the carparks and on the bridge and yelled out of instinct more than anything else for them to duck, pressing himself to the ground as he did so. As a few, long seconds passed and the bushes didn't move, the car door windows didn't explode with bullets and he didn't experience or hear any groans of pain, he bashfully pulled himself to his feet, feeling a complete idiot. He held out a hand to Remus. Renard was already up on his feet, patting his pockets.

"I'm sorry," Nick muttered. "Had a danger signal. I'm not always right."

Remus shrugged. "A premature instinct is better than a zero one. We're going to leave. There is much to discuss."

Renard held the door open for him. "I'll make Jan aware that you won't be returning to work for a few hours."

Nick blinked. A few hours? God – a long discussion, then. But, good. He heard voicemail-volumed ringing, and bent down to see a phone vibrate itself across the ground near the wheels of Renard's SUV. He picked it up to hand it over, saw the notification of an incoming call from a 'maiden' (very demure, he smirked), but the voice fluting across the voicemail made his blood sputter in his chest.

"I tried earlier and you weren't there, so I guessed I'd try again – but you're a hard man to get. I get that, you're a Captain. Your life is busy. Anyhow, I wanted to thank you for finding me this new place…." Nick stared in disbelief at Renard's phone and Juliette's voice piping cheerfully through it. She had his number. He knew where she was. He'd _arranged_ where she was…. "It's beautiful, Vienna is beautiful… I know things have been… difficult since the kiss but I really appreciate the opportunity to get away from absolutely everything. Maybe absence will cure the heart altogether…"

Nick felt his heart drop by several inches and his hand trembled as he tossed it back over to his Captain. The guy who'd stood by him while the feds were on his back. Who'd put Juliette under house watch after Oleg Stark had broken in – even after his death and until he was well enough to go home. The man he'd come to think of like some kind of Uncle.

He felt his eyes heat and balled his fists to keep his temper. "Are you… going to tell me about this _kiss_?"

"It's really not what you― NICK!" Renard's face turned from anguish to alarm and he stuck a hand out, presumably to appeal to the Grimm. The Grimm wasn't in the mood.

Nick took a couple of steps forward, his teeth grinding, not sure what he would do if he _did_ get his hands on his boss at that particularly moment. As he approached, Renard and Remus lunged a couple of steps towards him, then Nick felt a crushing slam across his back, shoulders and neck that drove him face-first into the side of the SUV. He just had time to notice that Renard hadn't cleaned his car for a while before the impact blow to the front of his head caught up with him and he slithered queasily to the freeway concrete besides the front passenger wheel.


	12. The lesser of two evils

**Ok folks, so here we go! Disclosure! Stress! Angry Grimms!**

**This chapter is kind of split into two – Nick and Sean have definitely not quit their bitching… yet ;) But it would've been about 30 pages on A4 by the time it came to post, if I was going to push together all the plot strings coming together at a manageable and context-setting rate, so… part two coming very soon. I'll update as quick as I can.**

**Thanks all for the continued support and reviews. Am really, **_**really**_** nervous about this chapter so please take pity on a nerve-wracked author! **

**I hope you enjoy…. (biting nails…)**

**X x X**

Sean paced. He was used to pacing with his hands behind his back, but that was by choice: he resented _having_ to pace with his hands behind his back because they were bound up with rope. His chest was still sore from the tranquiliser dart and his arm, too, from some inept attempt to take blood from his inner elbow while he was still out. Remus was still drowsy, also with his hands behind his back but slumped at the bottom of an iron sports rack, his tied wrists bound round one of the legs. Presumably to prevent him from having any funny ideas about leaping up, going back to full bear woge and kicking the little store room door down. To do so would bring the sports rack down on his head.

At least Sean thought it was a store room, though from the debris left after it'd been cleared out, it wasn't really clear whether it'd been a stationery closet or a sports closet. The sports racks – two of them looming up opposite walls – had been for basket and footballs. There were faded 'your team wants YOU' posters up on the walls. But also a few random pens and a couple of 15cm plastic rulers scattered on the floor. The room smelt of 'college'. Small, damp, smelly.

And he had no idea where Nick had been taken. He was steaming angry. His moment of bridge-building right in front of him… then snatched away first by the worst-timed call he'd ever received, then by the rampant inconvenience of Nick being hit very hard by a Lowen teenager with a shovel and dragged off somewhere.

"Sean…." Remus croaked. "Stop pacing. You're making me feel seasick."

"How can you be so calm?"

"I'm not calm! I'm sore, uncoordinated, queasy, and my cellmate won't stop fucking pacing!"

"Sorry." Sean gritted his teeth and wiggled his wrists. "I'm not used to feeling so…"

"Impotent?"

Actually, he was going for 'helpless', but, "Yeah."

"Well, you care about Nick, you know? It is quite natural to fret for someone so violently clanged with a spade."

Sean leant with his back to the sports rack opposite Remus' and glanced sideways at the door. It was old, fitted with an open Chubb lock with a pin turn, and badly hung, allowing a half inch of breeze to whistle in from beneath the bottom and the floor. But it was also very, very solid. He still hadn't got his head around what had happened at the bridge. David Presley hadn't been among their attackers, nor Irvine Stark or Blake Warrington, who were still in custody. So perhaps the influence Presley had over the power-hungry students of Portland State went a little wider than they'd first thought.

"Who is Presley?" Sean asked. "You reacted violently to his name, earlier."

"Presley himself is small-fry. But he's made promises to people on _my _radar. You remember me talking about the wave of 'new management' in the Verrat? Well, my sources say that Gabriel Soutaines has headed west to address the mess going on out here. It is likely that he will kill David Presley before the Police have a chance to arrest him."

"For failing to deliver wesen-changing drugs, or…?"

"No, for being a noisy fool, mostly. Look, what makes Soutaines so dangerous is that is a clever, modern and forward-thinking man. _He _knows perfectly well there that there is no such thing as a serum that can change a wesen's basic form, whether before gestation, in centris, or in adulthood. He will also know that by being so backwards and incompetent, Presley would have put the entire Verrat operation in Portland on _your_ Canton Radar – which he has, of course. He will feel the need to wipe the Verrat slate clean in Portland and start fresh."

Sean smiled slightly at the prospect of Presley facing justice at the hands of his 'own' people.

"But before you start daydreaming about someone doing your job for you, consider the 'human' element of this, so to speak. This Geier child that Nick and Jan have been harbouring – would you see him orphaned?"

"I was looking at the bigger picture."

"The medium picture," Remus amended mildly. "And there is nothing wrong with that. So long as you have people around you to remind you of the small picture. You need a team."

He sighed. "That's what I've been _trying_ to build. What's the bigger picture?"

"That's not so good. The bigger picture would involve Soutaines choosing to wipe the slate clean by executing anyone who has been involved with Presley. Just to be thorough. I hope you have a good list of those he has taken money from for cross reference, because the 'accidents' are going to start piling up. Soutaines will be a lot better at staying off your radar than Presley has been."

Sounds of furious fighting came towards them down the corridor and suddenly the door was wrenched open. Three young lowen guys tried to throw Nick in, but even with his hands tied in front of him, his levels of rage made this incredibly difficult for them. He headbutted the shortest guy, spraying blood across his letter jacket and slammed his instep down the shin and ankle of a second guy behind him, making him leap with pain and hop back. The third, about the size of a starting quarterback, wrestled him down by his waist but had a real job keeping him down as the furious Grimm kicked up to the side with his legs and twisted, nearly breaking his grip.

Sean kicked big-lowen in the side of the head, dazing him and giving Nick a chance to get back on his feet, but got the spade in the side of his head for his troubles, cracking him violently against the wall at the side of the door.

His vision went completely grey for a few minutes, but he wasn't out. Struggling to get his face off the wall, he heard a yell of protest, a scream - not Nick's - and a thump. By the time he was able to focus, two of the Lowen were dragging the third, completely limp, out through the door and were re-locking it, one screaming recriminations at the other: 'What the fuck happened to Justin?' 'I dunno, man! He just dropped!' The draggers argued as they retreated down the corridor, flinging blame at each other for failing to take the sample, for failing to get organised, for... other things indiscernible through the tide of swearing and the thick door. Sean heard one of them yell 'we gotta burn it!', and then they turned a distant, echoey corner.

"SEAN! Check Nick."

That woke him. Subdued, Nick was down on his knees, his hands now tied behind his back. Then he tipped over sideways.

"Nick?"

Sean scrambled over and saw a little slow-release drugs dart sticking out of Nick's shoulder. He bent awkwardly to grip it between his teeth, pull it out and spit it across the room. Nick was a mess. He was wearing a black denim shirt with poppers, most pulled apart during the fight, and his inner arm showed signs of more than a couple of attempts to take blood from him. It was slow-moving. Not a dangerous bleed. For Nick. For him, yes. Grimm Blood. Sean reflexively moved back.

"What are you doing?" Remus demanded. "Get back over there and see he's ok!"

"He's bleeding."

"Are you planning to lick him?"

Sean glared at Remus. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Well unless you're worried it's going to exorcise the evil from your Dolce & Gabbana, check for damn breathing, will you?"

"I'm breathing," Nick muttered suddenly.

Sean looked down. Nick's eyes were still shut, but his jaw was set obstinately, the muscle by his ear solid and angry. "You alright?"

"Fine," Nick snapped.

"Of course you are," Remus muttered. "I've never seen a cheerier Grimm."

Nick's head snapped up angrily. "What?"

Sean directed a glare of almost equal fury at his ally. Yes, thank you Remus, for jumping the gun with one of the many subjects I was hoping to bring up at my own pace. Remus squeezed his eyes shut at his own stupidity and tried to sit up more against the rack, but was too floppy.

"Apologies, gents. Please, blame that on the noodle-brain drug they have given us. I had two darts. I feel strange."

"Did they manage to take any of your blood, Nick?"

"No. I woke... suddenly."

He seemed very groggy to Sean. "Did they do anything... else to you?"

"No." Sean watched as Nick rolled back onto his front, pulled his knees under him and tried to heave himself off the floor into a sitting position. It took a long time, and when he was upright, albeit with his chin on his chest, he was breathing hard from the effort.

"Don't meet his eyes yet, Sean," Remus warned quietly. "You saw what happened to that young lowen. He just gasped and dropped. Remember what I said this morning? That he might not be able to control-"

"So you're Hexenbiest?" Nick asked suddenly.

"Half. How did you know?"

"I've only seen that panic reaction to my blood once before. With Adalind."

Sean sighed - the de-frocking of the witch in the woods. Not something that would readily slip Nick's mind. "Of course."

Nick raised his chin. "So you know her? Were you with her?"

In real terms? "No."

"Are you with Juliette?"

"No."

"Then how the fuck do you know where she is?" Nick shouted. "And knowing that, how could you not tell me?"

His voice rebounded round the small, echoey room and Sean suddenly found himself looking directly at Nick. Right into his eyes. They were silver-sheened and glaring, but also red rimmed and wet. Sean felt his adrenaline rising, his pulse smacking behind his teeth. His chest felt a little tight, but he had no faintness of sense impending doom. No sensation that suggested that he would drop away, conscience-scalded like that young Lowen. Nick was furious, bewildered and heartbroken all over again - for the moment - but it was Nick shouting at him, not some insane, irrational Grimm. The guy was stronger than Sean had given him credit for.

"WHERE IS SHE?"

Sean kept his gaze level. "I don't know… exactly where she is."

Nick got up on his feet and paced the room. "Really? Because she kinda gave the impression that you set her up somewhere."

"She's not waiting for me in a love nest, Nick. She's in Vienna on a 3-month European Veterinary Exchange programme. I got someone else to arrange the logistics. The point of her going away was so that we couldn't see each other. To protect her from me, and vice versa."

"And why would you need to do that?"

"A mutual obsession, Nick, caused by a Zaubertrank. You know about Zaubertranks, right?"

Nick nodded rigidly.

"Neither of us signed up to feeling as we do, and we are not safe from those feelings unless she's a very, very long way away. She asked to go. I just helped to make it happen." Sean followed Nick's progress round the room. He'd sat himself back down against the sports rack, next to Remus. Most of him was braced for a kick. It hadn't come yet. Nick's face suggested that this moment wasn't far away. "She wants this… feeling to be over. She still cares about you. She realised that when she came to see you in hospital after siege night. "

"Oh good. That doesn't seem to be a problem you're struggling with."

"Yeah I am," Sean contradicted flatly. "That's why I did this. She's a beautiful, smart and spirited woman, Nick. It would've been a lot easier to give into my base instincts, run off with her, get a transfer… but I have bigger responsibilities. Same as you."

Nick scuffed the floor quietly for a while, fighting pointlessly with the rope holding his wrists in place. Sean was beginning to wonder if he'd even heard, or picked up on the implicit statement 'yeah, I care', when Nick span, roared, and kicked the metal stand behind him repeatedly, making the noise crash round and round the room until the bottom two shelves were dented and the whole structure was wobbly against the wall. Eventually, he stepped off with a grunt, panting. "FUCK!"

Then he turned back, face properly wet. "You know what really sticks in my throat? The day she swung by to the office to see me 'at work'. To remember stuff. She couldn't take her eyes off you. She was doing that little hand-wringy nervous thing and you were standing there and beaming 'Oh, we were _all_ really worried about you, especially _this_ guy', pointing at me like I was exhibit A. And there was I, thinking, 'well, at least I've got support at work', but it seems―"

"Nick, that's when it started! When she came into work! I was in control, until then. She was trying to make it work with you―"

"And then you kissed?"

Sean accidentally laughed with disbelief. Oh God, he had this all upside down. "No! No, God no. Nick ― the kiss woke her up from her coma. _I _woke her up from her coma!"

"But my m―" Nick stopped himself. "I was told that only a Prince could wake her. So you're… half Royal? The Prince in Portland?"

Strangely, Nick seemed calmer. "I was half Prince. Royalty is a bloodline, like being a Grimm, or a Jagerbar. I was given a zaubertrank to drink to diminish my Hexenbiest strength sufficiently so that I could kiss Juliette without poisoning her further. Or so I thought. I was trying to return her to you. The obsession… was not expected."

"You knew I was a Grimm at that point?"

"Yeah."

"So why not tell me?" Nick looked exasperated. "If you were trying to do a good thing, why not tell me?"

"Because… you were in a vulnerable place. And it would've involved telling you how I knew that Adalind had done this to her."

"You thought I'd believe that all Hexenbiests were the same?"

"No. I felt responsible for what Adalind did to her. She used Juliette to punish you, for 'killing' her Hexenbiest." Sean swallowed hard. This was the part of the confession he did not relish and almost expected to get the same kicking treatment as the ball rack behind Nick. "She wouldn't have felt the need to punish you, if I hadn't used her."

Nick tilted his head. "Explain."

The door opened suddenly and quietly and David Presley walked in with two very large men. One of them armed. No more shovels. Just to set the no-arguments scene, they shifted to Hasslich and back. One of them carried a little black hand-sized case. He pulled it open to reveal an archaic wide-bored needle. Nick backed up a little bit with his hands tied. But not even a violent struggle, to which Sean contributed until he got pistol-whipped, could prevent Nick from being slammed back onto his knees with the shirt sleeve pulled up.

Nick tutted. "You're not going to get a vein at that angle."

"Shut up," grunted one the Hasslich.

Nick giggled vaguely, but made it difficult for them. Sean wondered what could possibly be funny, particularly when the armed Hasslich swung the gun at his face.

"If you don't let loose your arm," Presley said quietly, "we'll break it, and then take the blood, then shoot him."

"Oh… just give it, Nick," Remus said blearily from the floor, and Sean looked over in gratified surprise at this return to the living on his behalf. "It'll be ok… just give it."

Sean failed to see how anything could be 'ok' with Nick's blood on the loose – particularly with the effects it had on him. "Remus…"

"Nicky kid… what blood group are you?"

"Huh? Uh… O positive."

Remus snickered distantly. "Just so you know, Presley, any rhesus negative people taking whatever crap you're planning to make with that sample… are in for a rough ride."

**X x X**

Jan saw the overturned car from quite some distance and accelerated towards it as he recognised the vehicle that Wu and Livvy had left in to drop Warwick off with Dr Zimmermann.

He pulled over sharply and attached Mrs Presley's wrists to the inside handle of the car door using metal cuffs. She glared at him furiously. "You'll pardon the extra security," he murmured, "but for obvious reasons, I'm not ruling out a rescue ambush."

He locked up and bolted over to the turned car, relieved to see Livvy peeling herself out of the front passenger window at top. Although shaky, she was too agile to have any serious injuries. She'd almost climbed out onto the rear door and was trying to edge herself backwards to drop down off the side of the car, so he reached up, grabbed her waist and turned her towards him to lower her down. "You alright?"

She stared at him, completely perplexed.

"Olivia!?"

"You're the White Knight!" she spluttered.

"White Knight?" Jan raised his brows. Then remembered she was an Andersen. "You're fine," he deduced, putting her down. "What happened? Wu ok?"

"He's dazed. I was going to find a signal spot to call for help. We got run off the road. Total maniac drove us off from behind coming up to a one-lane bend. One minute we were talking, the next swerving and scraping along on our side. Oh God... petrol..." they both looked down and saw the pool spreading as fast as the billowing cloud of smoke expanded from under the crunched bonnet.

"Livvy, get over to my car."

"But you can't―"

"Yes, I can. Go!"

Jan reached up palm-side up and grabbed the upper door handles, pulling the underside of the car towards him. Gravity helped and it tipped easily enough as he heaved it down as far as his hips but the difficulty was with keeping his grip and placing it smoothly rather than letting it drop with a jerk. Wu could still be hurt. It was ridiculously heavy and he felt sweat building. He may have bitten off more than he could chew this time. He braced his legs, rested a moment to exhale, then lowered the car to the ground as slowly as he could manage, knowing that he had about a week's worth of morning bicep stiffness misery coming his way. Wringing his arms out, he jogged round the back and over to Wu's side. Wu's head was forward on the steering wheel, his eyes blinking open and shut.

The smoke in the engine was starting to suck back into the vehicle, making Wu cough wildly and wipe his eyes. It was unlikely to blow - that rarely happened (unless actually ignited by charges) but the bigger danger was of choking, even with the windows smashed at front. Jan pulled again on Wu's door, but it wouldn't open. And the first flames licked out from the side of the bonnet. With no more time for discretion, he reached through the window, grabbed the inner handle and outer together and heaved the door up and off hinges, chucking it behind him. Wu looked woozy, so he reached over to unbuckle his belt, only to find that John was doing that already, groggily, for himself. Dazed, he may have been, but not out. And from the expression on his face, he'd blatantly seen him remove the door. And possibly seen him tip the car. Great. He pulled Wu out hurriedly.

They'd reached the relative safety of Jan's unmarked car by the time the fire had quietly spread inside the overturned vehicle. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Jan could feel Wu's expectant stare without even looking sideways.

"Thanks," Wu said eventually. "Sincerely. But you mind telling me how you did that? Did 'annoyance give you wings' again?"

"I suppose there's no point in telling you that I've found time to go to the gym lately?"

"None!"

"Thought not." Jan sighed. He had both Wu and Livvy staring at him. Livvy a little less incredulously, perhaps, given her experience with the cats the day before. She knew he was 'something else' – they just hadn't had that discussion yet. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Depends how much later. Years later?" Wu's tone was more than a little acidic, for which Jan couldn't entirely blame him.

"After we've dropped off our suspect with witness protection, perhaps?" Jan nodded meaningfully at the blonde, stiff-necked figure in the back seat.

"Yeah... yeah. Ok, fair enough. I've thought you were a bit weird for seven years, another fifteen minutes isn't going to kill me." Wu opened the back door for Livvy. "I get to ride shotgun. Non-rookie privilege."

She gave him a flinty look but got in and strapped in.

The first two minutes of the drive were fine, with Wu calling in the car crash, reporting no injuries, and giving all the details of the car that they could remember between the pair of them: it was a Pontiac, illegally tinted windows, a partial on the plate. Jan didn't recognise the description of the car they gave – it must have turned off somewhere between the crash and his own approach from the bridge. The next two minutes were awkward and fidgety. Jan was dying to turn the radio on to settle himself down a little, but that might seem flippant.

"That's why the boys want to be like you," Mrs Presley said suddenly. "What you did back there. _You_ don't have to woge to be able to do what you just did."

Jan flicked a sideways glance at Wu, who mouthed _don't have to… what? _to himself. Then snapped his gaze back to the road and his rearviews. "I've seen what some of those boys would do what that kind of strength."

"What's a Koninglowen doing on a Police force?"

"Policing, mostly," Jan muttered. "Please feel free to exercise your right to complete silence, by the way."

"You are not a peaceful people. Your ancestors used to tear mine limb from limb - it's because of the likes of you that we learnt to take to the trees."

He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. He wasn't convinced that the Koninglowen breed alone was solely responsible for the Geiers' Darwinian retreat to higher places. They'd probably annoyed the irritable, wild, hairy tits off the hippo-like Nilpherds, Dirkfellig and Balam as well.

"They'll want your blood, you know."

Wu suddenly gave a snarky chuckle. "Good luck to them trying to get it!"

"You'll find David, he's hopeless. But he's told too many people that he has the answer to the problem of 'weak wesen'. Bigger people than him have listened – people who will not care that you're a Koninglowen and who won't throw themselves at your feet like the Warringtons did!"

Jan briefly met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "Are you planning to tell me who these bigger people are?"

She glared stiffly out of the window. "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"Mrs Presley, I'm beginning to feel very much in touch with my limb-tearing ancestors. If you don't shut up _now_, I will find you the least hospitable form of witness protection possible."

A few minutes later, she appealed to Wu, who was still slightly pale at all this talk of people being shredded. "_You_ must be curious. I saw your reaction to his little car-pull stunt out there. You didn't know about him, did you?"

"Hey lady, I'll be curious at my own speed, thanks." Wu turned in his seat and flashed his badge. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm on the same side as the irritable 'Lion King', so quiet it down."

Jan shot him a grateful sideways look, which Wu acknowledged with a grunt. He was pissed, and rightfully so. Wu had offered him so many opportunities over the years simply to admit that he was a little different from everyone else, but he'd rebuffed every attempt to draw him out with a friendly tease.

Jan unlocked Mrs Presley from the car door and patrolled her into the discreet little office building that housed the witness protection team. He booked her in and put her in a secondary class of interrogation – there was little point in prioritising a talk with her over the next 24 hours. She'd made it pretty clear in the remaining car journey that her cooperation would extend to admission to receiving illicit funds, but no more. And she didn't ask about her son. So she could wait. Maybe an overnight stew in her own paranoia might make her more receptive to providing more information about her husband's activities.

He rejoined Wu and Livvy in the car, who'd been engaging in an urgent whispering match but fell silent like children bickering over who was going to steal the last cookie as he climbed back in.

"A couple of questions about your 'accident', and then you can ask what you want – within reason. First: how long were you driving from Dr Zimmermann's before you were run off?"

"Uh… about five minutes, I guess. Her place is really close to here. We'd just got your call for back-up when we got off-roaded." He sighed, looking tired and more affected by the smash than he'd been letting on.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." A slight smirk. "I think we're both going to end up at Portland General in the 'burning curiosity' burns unit if you don't let us start asking the questions soon, but yeah, we're ok."

Jan bit his lip. The tip-over had happened after the _after_ the bridge pickup, but Jan hadn't seen the car going past him. Maybe this insane Pontiac driver was linked to the case or maybe not – no one had tried ambushing _his _car, carrying a key witness - but he had a bad feeling about… something. If nothing else, he wanted to check the area for tyre patterns, see if anything had raced through at the speed that the Pontiac had been doing when running Wu off the road.

He put the car into drive. "I want to go back to the bridge quickly, then we'll head back to the precinct. It'll give you time for your questions. Fire away."

"Are you secretly a lion?" Wu began.

"Uh… not entirely," Jan began carefully, looking at the very human hands with which he was driving the car. And certainly not secret any more, at least. God, where to start? No wonder Nick had had this problem introducing Juliette into the world of wesen. He took a deep breath and started talking, hoping he wouldn't make himself hoarse again. "Ok, so you heard her calling me a Koninglowen…"

**X x X**

Nick pulled his head back upright. He didn't want any single bit of him having to rely on Renard to keep him upright, even though they were now trussed back to back. He'd giggled before because – on sight of that needle – he'd thought 'I have been injected by Hilde Zimmermann ― your torture device holds no fear for me'. And it didn't hold fear, this ancient, painful thing, but fuck did it hurt. And yeah, he struggled, and yeah, made a mess of the floor, and another baddy-nose. So they'd darted him. Again. He didn't know what was in the little plastic thing they'd stuck into his chest but he was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to make him feel drunk.

His ears tuned into the 'hushed' conversation between the Hasslich guys and Presley, by the door. They were staring at him curiously. There seemed to be six of them.

"Ok," Presley muttered eventually, let's go."

"You're leaving a _live_ Grimm in a room?" Gun-Hasslich hissed, but he'd clearly graduated from the Brian Blessed School of Shouting, because even his whisper filled the room with a boom.

"Doesn't matter," Presley muttered. "This place is going up in flames anyway."

This last line should've induced a degree of Grimmesque dread in him, have him leaping to his feet, dragging Renard up with him, but it just seemed so ridiculous. Why, _why _stand there setting out your evil plans in detail in a room filled with various ranks of cop?

"That's smart," Nick muttered. "No one will suspect you of any of that."

"Hey, he was listening!" whined needle-Hasslich.

"GOD FORBID I SHOULD OVERHEAR YOUR _PRIVATE_ CONVERSATION," Nick boomed, Blessed-like, and got the giggles again, for which he earned a kick in the gut which took him several minutes to recover from. He was still coughing air back into his chest several minutes after Presley and his hoons had swept out, leaving him to contemplate his situation with his co-captives.

"Nick," Renard said quietly, "was it necessary to antag―"

"I will come back to _you_… inna minute," Nick snapped. "Gossum… thinking to do."

He did. It seemed insanely unfair that Renard had a reasonable explanation for why he was in touch with Juliette. A large part of him felt that he'd missed an opportunity with his kicking fit and that he'd been pointing in the wrong direction, because now he had confusion covering everything like a blanket and it drove him mad. For ages, he'd alternated anger at the way that Juliette had cut herself out of his life, having given the 'let's not be strangers' message out, loud and clear, with regret, that he hadn't been more honest, earlier. Anger versus guilt, overlapping until he didn't know where his mind was.

If it hadn't been for Hank and Monroe, and later, Jan and Denny, giving him 'permission' to be hopping mad about the whole thing, he'd have gone quietly nuts quite some time ago. And now he was back to back with the guy responsible for a good deal of this misery, armed with the answers he needed, and he couldn't reach him. It made a difference, fractionally, that the kiss was part of a bid to wake Juliette up. The 'Prince' in Portland had been trying to help him after all. Hey, good, yada yada. But… how long had he known that he was a Grimm? And how the hell hadn't he spotted his own fucking Captain was half-Hexenbiest earlier? It wasn't as if he were in a low-stress job, for the love of God…

In some ways, he suddenly envied wesen. When things got on top of them, they woged. That had to be some kind of release, didn't it? He was stuck with his turmoil and didn't know how to get rid of the bewildered anger zinging around inside him.

"What happens," he asked suddenly, "after a stress-woge? Do you feel better, or…?"

"Who are you asking?" Renard replied, warily.

Didn't really matter. "Both of you, I guess."

"F'r me," Remus slurred, "It is physically necessary. If I don't woge, I get angina. Nasty. Or heartburn."

Nick frowned, looking over at the guy now almost tipped sideways on the floor, his hands bound to the bottom of the rack. "You alright?"

"No, I am fucking appalling, but thank you for asking!"

"Is that a Jagerbar thing? The angina and…?"

"An age thing, alas. But I do generally feel better afterwards. Why do you ask?"

Nick laughed, but there was no humour in it. "I wished I could woge, for a moment. I am so.. so angry." He nudged Renard, behind. "How come you never have?"

"Combination of things." Renard took a breath, and Nick was gratified to feel that he was taking the question seriously. "Mainly, I'm half Royal. We have nothing to 'woge' into – we keep human form, just like Grimms. As for the Hexenbiest half… that's early training and emotional control."

"How?"

"Mindfulness training," he said simply.

"WHAT?" Frankly, he'd expected a slightly more supernatural explanation.

"If you apply it in its extreme form, you learn to put your feelings in a closed space, where you can look at them objectively and decide how to deal with them. The emotions are still there, but they don't take you over in the same way."

Interesting form of self-defence, Nick thought. And it explained Renard's range of facial expressions from A-C. "Is that what you did when you kissed Juliette? Shut all your feelings in a box?"

"Yes. I couldn't have done it any other way. She's yours, Nick. Was yours."

Nick gritted his teeth. There was no snappy answer to that one. But there was something that hugely confused him. "This stuff you took… to help you wake Juliette. Diminished your Hexenbiest, or made you more Royal – or something. I thought it was impossible to …" Nick struggled to wake his brain up. "I thought it was impossible to… diminish or strengthen either half of you if you were gemischtwesen? That's what Warwick was trying to explain. It can't be done. It's a fake science."

"Warwick's right," Renard muttered. "I took a potion that pretty much turned the whole of me inside out. It was pure, physical revenge. I've been weaker ever since. As a half-Prince I would've been able to wake Juliette all along, but… my suspicion is that the poison I took made me susceptible to the obsession element of kissing her awake. Juliette would've been obsessed with whoever kissed her."

"Who gave you the potion?"

Nick picked up on the hesitation.

"Elizabeth Schade."

"Adalind's mother?" Nick was incredulous. "So… you used Adalind for… something. Adalind got mad enough to coma-fy Juliette with a cat scratch, and you think Adalind's _Mom_ is going to give you something to _help_ Juliette?"

There was a longer pause this time. "When you put it like that… it does sound…. Really dumb."

The admission made Nick bark with laughter.

"But in Sean's defence, Nick," Remus said suddenly, "It was meant to rectify the situation, and the Hexenbiest have always been enslaved to the Royals. Sean was expecting complete obedience – foolishly or otherwise."

"Sounds pretty foolish to me," Nick agreed.

"Remus, I'm not sure this is helping."

"Gentlemen, only two of my brain cells are working – not both of them at the same time, necessarily. If you would shut up long enough for them to rub together a little? Thank you."

There was a long pause while the older guy pulled himself back up against the football rack. Nick looked at him in some concern. He was pretty grey. They should really start to think about getting out of here.

"It _really_ is a biological thing," Remus went on. "Pheromones. Or something. Royals are programmed to expect what they ask from Hexenbiests, in the same way that Hexenbiests are obliged to serve Royals – albeit with a little defiance thrown in. Sean asked for – demanded, probably – something that would wake Juliette. Mrs Schady Bitch Senior could only accede to his demand, but by way of defiance for hurting Adalind, threw in this nasty potion to hurt him with. She said 'drink this, then go forth and kiss that redhead'. If she hadn't been so angry, she'd have just said 'go forth and kiss the redhead'."

"What did you do," Nick asked, "to make Adalind so angry?"

"I cast her off after you fought her in the woods."

"When she lost her Hexenbiest?"

"Yeah."

"So you used her and then abandoned her when she was no longer useful?"

"Pretty much."

"Oh that's a strategic move. Way to make friends and influence people. But I thought…" Nick cleared his throat. "Isn't the point that you _can't _lose half of yourself?"

"Only Hexenbiests," Renard muttered. "And yeah, we can. Slightest bit of Grimm blood and we're… no longer 'spiritual'. It's why Royals used to keep Grimms so close on one side, and Hexenbiests on the other. The only thing we could threaten Hexenbiests with was Grimm blood."

"What did you need Adalind for in the first place?"

Another long hesitation, and then, "to get your key."

Nick sensed that the answer to his next question was going to get him really, really angry, but he asked it anyway. "How?"

"By getting close to Hank, and therefore, you."

"Adalind is a blatantly two-faced, bony-faced evil bitch with a dozen combined grudges – what the _fuck_ made you think I'd let her into my space just because she was dating Hank?"

"You went for dinner as a foursome―"

"Yeah! To warn Hank off of her!" Renard sighed deeply, as if he were barely containing his patience, which made Nick bounce with his own impatience to rip free of their ropes and punch him extremely hard. "So you knew about the zaubertrank she used on him to obsess him – you know she nearly killed him, right? He's YOUR DETECTIVE!"

"AND YOU'RE MY GRIMM!" Renard roared back, stunning him for just a moment. "Do you have any fucking idea how many reapers, assassins, stalkers and other… complete rodents sent from my family I've had to fend off you in the last year? You've been policing my canton, you've been doing it peacefully and I've been doing whatever the hell I could to protect you while you did it! I didn't know what she planned to do with Hank. I didn't know she was going to jump the gun and make a fatal potion. I thought it was a seduction effort, playing the slow game, and I thought it was the lesser of two evils compared someone TORTURING YOU FOR THE GODDAMN KEY!"

Nick felt a weird burning sensation at his wrists. It was like holding them under over-hot water for a moment, but quickly became very extreme. "AGH! What are you _doing?_"

"STRESS WOGING!" Renard thrashed on the other side of him.

"Well… don't!" his eyes watered. "Jesus, is this kind some kind of Hexenbiest… thing? Fine! Calm down!"

"Nick – is your rope plastic-y?"

Nick turned at Remus' very random question and felt for the end of one of the hanging bits. "It's kind of… shiny…" the pain in his arms was getting overwhelming. "…why?"

"I hate to say this, but you're going to have to hang on for a moment, maybe yell a little, rely on your quick healing and let Sean melt your way out of your ropes. Sean, stay mad, and let that adrenaline go."

"Stay mad?" Renard said exhaustedly. "I'm shattered… how do I … stay.. mad?"

"Well, you may be on the side of the angels," Remus started, "But you're a humourless SOB with all the female insight of a perverted seahorse. Oh yeah, and your mother was a bitch, you can't actually handle blue with your skin tone, and you wear your ties too long. Your turn, Nick."

Nick could barely speak. The heat coming off Renard was intense – it was like sitting next to a furnace. But suddenly his wrists were slipping free. He pulled as hard as he could manage, tipped himself forward from the knees and was suddenly loose – as was Renard in the opposite direction.

They both stood, stared each other down. Or up, in Nick's case. He hated that height disadvantage.

"A little help, here?"

Nick and Renard bent to lift the sports rack between them – it was light enough with the leverage moving in the right direction – and pulled him out from underneath the foot of the rack. They untied him. He staggered to the far side of the room, wringing his hands.

"I hope one of you is good at picking locks, because I smell smoke."

**X x X**

When Jan eventually stopped fielding the first fifty questions between Livvy and Wu, and had flashed the obligatory glimpse of incisors, his sergeant sat with his head in his hands for a few moments, rubbing his palms over his short hair like a demented man. Then he suddenly popped out of his hands, all wild-eyed and gesticulating.

"What gets me, Jan, is that you pretty much admitted to being a fricking lion on top of that parking lot and I BRUSHED IT OFF!"

"I accept that you're going to be pretty mad at me for a while."

"It's not really about being… mad at you. It's more about being mad at myself for…"

"Not believing your instincts?" Livvy offered from the backseat.

"Damn straight! Not believing my ears either, in this case. 'You heard a Harley,'… my ass…" Wu muttered. "How dumb do I feel?"

"Sorry."

"But so much stuff makes sense about you now."

Jan frowned cautiously. "Like… what?"

"Your sustained record for the shortest showers to be held in an Oregon precinct. Your violent loathing of rain."

"Hmmm." Yes, both quite cat-like, he had to admit, but he had no intention of sobering the tone by explaining that actually… these were fairly recent phobic reactions after being waterboarded by his brothers-in-law.

"…your wild aversion to the vegetarian option on any given menu, your unnatural predilection for fish…"

"…the slavish behaviour of alleycats," Livvy added.

"God, yeah! I wondered about that. Oh… and _definitely_…your tendency to sprawl unconscious in the sunlight."

"I do not!"

"You _do_!" Wu snorted. "The slightest bit of sun over twenty degrees and you're snoozing behind your shades at your desk, pretending you're contemplating the case out of the window instead of… catnapping."

Jan shrugged. Ok, that was fair enough. "Only ever on lunch break. And I do set my alarm."

"_So_ not the point! The rooftop roaring – quite a big clue - and now, oh yeah, the ludicrous levels of strength! What can you lift, man?"

Jan considered this. "Well… I haven't really measured it. But from general experience, anything over 300lb is oppressive beyond a couple of hundred yards. And I need a decent grip. Give me a fridge-freezer and I'm as hopeless as anyone."

Wu turned serious. "Nick knows what you are? You joked about him being sworn to secrecy up on that roof, but his expression when you 'fessed up'… it was like 'what are you doing'?"

"Yeah, he's known for a couple of months. Hank, too. They found out on Siege night at Tennant's bar. I was hurt and not really able to… hold onto myself as well as usual." It was the best Jan could do. It wasn't up to him to expose what Nick could and could not see, but he didn't want to isolate Wu with his secret, either. Best that he was able to share it – to a degree – with Livvy and Hank. "Look – there's a reason why I don't tell people what I am―"

"I get it," Wu said quietly. "I just wish… we could've had this conversation a long, long time ago."

Jan met his eyes with regret. John wasn't the only one to feel that way. Keeping that kind of secret long-term… it was wearying. "Me too."

"The things I'd have asked you to lift for me…" Wu muttered, and the hard tone in the car was shattered in a heartbeat.

The radio even came on for the few minutes they drove until they reached the Fremont Bridge, where Renard's car remained. The area seemed dead but nonetheless, Jan took his gun out as he slid from the drivers' seat and looked around. Renard's driver door was unlocked. There was no sign of a screeching take-off of any other vehicle from the scene but… something was wrong.

"John, could you call in the Captain's disappearance? He's with Nick. And an Interpol Chief named Commandant van Maarten. Let's get someone to pick his car up."

It took a few moments for Wu to call this into despatch.

"I don't know the area that well, yet." Jan pointed down the road from the bridge, in the direction he hadn't yet travelled in. "What's up there?"

"Industrial estates, and off the B roads, the path to Haverzake forest and Portland State Science and Sport."

Jan nodded them back into his car. "Let's drive."

**X x X**

Running somewhat late, Denny pretty much plunged Theo into his pre-school room, stripped him of his coat (nearly spinning him like a top across the room in the process), gathered him up and ruffled his head before bolting for the door. Theo waved after him in a dazed sort of way. At the door, Denny looked back to see the little guy on his knees, struggling with a zip, trying to help one of the littler girls, trapped and crying, to get her out of her coat. Denny gave a crooked smile. _So _like his dad.

"You're a liability with your flaming pink zips," Theo complained.

Alright, perhaps with a little external influence, too. Denny blushed and ducked guiltily from the room, almost straight into the nursery owner, Sally, who was beaming at him in that slightly unsettling way that she had. "Morning," he said hurriedly and moved to bound past, but she was clearly expecting conversation.

"You _have_ remembered the costumes, haven't you, Mr Miller?"

"Denny," he muttered, for the hundredth time. "What costumes? If you're talking about Theo's inn-keeper garb, yeah – it's sorted."

"No, the ones for the members of the audience."

He pulled a face. "What, so… _we _have to wear outfits to their nativity? Why?"

"Because some of them are very little and feel scared about being watched by lots of people. We thought it would be easier for them if you were all superheroes. We did put notes in bags!"

"You entrusted the fate of important information like that to bits of paper in lots of small people's bags? Bit risky, if you ask me. Try email or posters next time?" He scratched his head. Where the hell were they going to get…

"Just so you know," Sally cut in with Andersen-like accuracy (even though she was Eisbiber), "We've already had a discussion with Theo about costumes for you and Jan. One of the group-leaders had already warned him that you might not be able to join in because of your larger stature."

He beamed hopefully.

"But there _is_ a stockist in Portland that gets many of its costumes from a Norwegian manufacturer, which provides outfits for key characters for gentlemen up to seven feet tall."

"Oh." So there's no sodding escape, Denny thought bitterly, as she gave him the address on a card. He grunted thanks and headed back to the car, muttering to Carianne. "How.. _how_ do I get roped into this stuff? Blokes used to be scared of me, you know…." She goggled at him with comic incredulity. He ruffled her head. "Yeah! Scared of _me_! Weird, eh?"

He got to the shop and got the costumes ordered with a two-day turnaround time, courtesy of his best attempt at a charming smile and the till lady's squeally, sentimental fit over Carianne. He was home in half an hour, stuck the pick-up slip on the cork board and then spotted the familiar pink stationery of Shelley on their internal doormat. He picked up the envelope, grinning before he'd even opened it. Shelley, nine, was good entertainment. She was their shy (hideously embarrassed) neighbour's daughter, and had become exceptionally cosy with both him and Jan to further her plans for world domination: schedule B of said plan being 'find her mum a boyfriend'. Her note read, in her chunky, round and almost-cursive script:

Dear Big Jan and Deny (also big)

Last night a lady came round and then went away again without ringing your doorbell. This morning she came round again and rang your doorbell and you both wernt in and she went away again in a taxi. But i spoke to her before she got in the taxi to go and said maybe she should wait some more because you never answer the door when changing a nappy and she was very surprised to hear about nappy changing happening but she said it was ok because she would come back again at a time when you were hopefully having a beer or a cup of tea and not changing a nappy.

I should tell you because she was very nice but a bit shy and _far_ too old for you both but she really wants to see one of you very much. If she is not an unsuitable woman i suspect she was an aunt of some sort.

I will be round with cookies for my school fundraiser. I hope you will buy lots and lots like usual.

lots and lots of love from Shelley xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Having re-read it and mentally added some punctuation, Denny giggled for a good fifteen minutes straight until finally Carianne thumped him for, presumably, not sharing the joke. Bless Shelley with her dire warnings of unsuitable women. He turned the note over and scrawled on the back:

Shelley,

Thanks for warnings of a suspicious, far-too-old woman. We will keep an eye out. I suspect you are right about shy aunts - they pop up when you least expect them. Money enclosed for your cookie onslaught. I'm not sure who is going to be around at your usual selling time, but we still want the goods, particularly the peanut butter ones (mixed smooth/crunchy, please). Could you hang onto them for us till we can pick them up?

Thanks,

DeNny (two N's, love. It's short for Dennis)

He shoved twenty dollars into the envelope but wondered who she could be talking about. Unless Jan had become involved in some new community safety venture (which wasn't completely unlikely), neither of them had any spare aunts floating around who'd be desperate for a visit. It occurred to him for a moment that she might be talking about Mrs Greenaway, the social services lady who'd been supporting them since he moved in while Jan was still full of broken ribs, but she was far from shy and wouldn't have been at all surprised that they would ignore the doorbell if it rang while they were changing a nappy. Besides, if it were that urgent, one of them would've received a voicemail or email from her by now.

But he didn't have much longer to think about it because the doorbell rang. He did the handover with the new Aussie babysitter for Carrie, who gelled with the tot at a speed that brought his Siegbarste "MINE!" reaction roaring instantly to the surface, even though Carianne wasn't his, of course. As he had to repeatedly remind himself these days. At least he managed to prevent himself from voicing that feeling. Nonetheless, feeling embarrassed by his gruffness, he left Aussie-chick with Carrie, posted Shelley's reply through her door and headed off to the precinct to sort out this ridiculous IT investment query with Gerry before it got out of hand.

He was halfway there when a call on his mobile got him to pull over. The incident line. He dialled in. "Gerry, what news?"

"Portland State, Science and Sport – north Campus. Fighting reported and fire sighted. Get on-scene ASAP."

"Going." Denny rolled his eyes and turned the car round. ASAP? Like he needed to be told…..


	13. Lesser of two evils (Pt 2)

**And here we go… part two! Sorry to keep you waiting – lots to cover all in one go. It's a busy day for our Grimm! Thanks so much for all the reviews, they really, really did help. I hope this continuation wraps up some more loose ends, but there's still 3 chapters left to come ;)**

**Hope you enjoy!**

"I don't remember Adalind being able to do that," Nick grunted, resisting the urge to rub his sore arms and make them worse. They flamed red from wrists almost to elbows and the skin that had been closest to the rope was particularly angry. The rope that had bound them was still very much complete – Renard's heat had simply softened the resin, bought them more pliability and enabled that last bit of wriggle room to snatch the width of their palms against the knots.

"Maybe it's a male thing," Renard muttered.

"You don't know?"

"No. I have no idea how widespread, or not, that particular ability is. Hexenbiests are not a sociable people―"

"Really? I'm shocked."

"Adalind was all potion and no practice. For all I know, she might have been able to do the same if she'd applied herself mentally a little more."

"Gentlemen… how about applying _ourselves_ a little more… to getting out of here?"

Nick bent down to the keyhole and huffed with relief to find that some fool had left the key in the other side of the lock. Escape was do-able. He hunted around for a key-poking object, still stinking mad about various parts of the Hank-poisoning story Renard had chosen to leave out, like where Hank's blood for the zaubertrank must have come from. He'd seen the make-up of that particular 'potion'. For a guy coming clean, his Captain was still holding a lot back.

"She was clearly powerful enough for you to entrust her with poisoning my partner. Or was that you relying on the slavish Hexenbiest biology again?"

"Like I said, I was playing the long game. I wasn't happy about having to switch up the timetable as that meant screwing with Hank, but―"

"Screwing with Hank?" Nick snapped, "You, too? He sure as hell didn't have any choice with Adalind―"

"FOCUS!" Remus roared from the back of the room, making both Nick and Renard jump.

"I'm focussing! I'm looking for something small and thin," Nick protested. Remus looked around, blinking rapidly, then pointed at a clear plastic… something… sticking out the bottom of one of the ball racks. A 15cm ruler. It helped that it was old and brittle. Nick managed to snap an eight-or-nine centimetre shard off the side narrow enough to poke through the keyhole. There was a dull metallic clank on the other side of the door as the key hit the ground. "Either of you got a belt?"

Renard pulled his off. Nick tested it in his hands. It was fairly new, hard leather. He got down on his front with the belt, flattening himself as close as possible to that tiny gap between door and floor, breathing out hard to blow a hole in the smoke that was steadily drifting in. He slid the belt under the door then angled it sideways and slightly behind the key, tapping it towards him gently. It got a bit stuck against the metal ridge holding down the lino edge in the store room and he felt his pulse raise at the thought of being so fricking close to getting the damn thing, except for a centimetre under the door. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and tried to breathe slowly. He felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see Renard handing down the shard of plastic. Nick poked the sharp end into the keyring hole, hoping the angle of grip wouldn't be too shallow and teased it out over the metal ridge. The key peeped into sight on his side of the door, making him flop with relief.

"Got it!" Nick grabbed the handle and unlocked the door. It was a good job it turned out not to be hot because he hadn't bothered to check it with the back of his hand first, and worse – he'd nearly yanked it open before Renard's huge hand braced the door and held it shut. Nick cringed inwardly. He'd been about to fling the door open and potentially send all their stockroom air into the corridor, possibly intensifying a blaze right outside. The realisation of what he might have done was made worse by the fact that he'd been stopped by the very guy he was absolutely furious with.

"I'll check it out first," Renard said evenly. "Stay here."

Nick regarded him flatly, not sure whether he was pulling rank, or whether he felt he had something to prove. He nodded and stood back, but as Renard was about to venture out, muttered: "Hey – put your coat over your head or something, alright? Don't go making any dangerous points."

"Fine. If I'm not back in two, that's your cue to make your own way out."

Nick watched Sean disappear and went to the back of the room to pull Remus' arm over his shoulder and move him closer to the door. The guy's colour was better, but he was still pretty sweaty. "Feeling ill, or numb?"

"Numb. I'll be fine with a little help. Apologies for the temper, incidentally. I have that old Jagerbar problem―"

"Can't share your furniture?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "You're a funny guy. No. Seasonal affective disorder. I'm a tetchy ass from October to February. Good job with the door, by the way. Where'd you learn that?"

Nick smiled. "Aunt Marie and I moved to lots of different houses when I was growing up. I managed to sneak back in after curfew at most of them."

"That's pretty poor security, for a Grimm. If you can't even keep a teenage boy out after beer o'clock."

"It wasn't a life of complete paranoia, back then." Nick hadn't realised, till just thinking about that, how much stability she'd given him and how different their lives were. Hers, constant drama and hiding of scars. His, a pretty normal degree of acceptable teenage angst, with the standard fluctuations in weight, locker-room harassment and homework-stealing. All pretty normal, once he'd gotten past the fact that his parents weren't ever coming home.

"His was," Remus said suddenly. Nick understood that to mean Renard. "He's come from a pretty dark place, Nick."

"Did you meet him with me to play referee?"

"Yes."

Nick was a little taken aback by the bluntness.

"And also, given the gravity of things he's trying to admit to, afford him some degree of protection so he can finish what he's saying before you open fire on him."

Nick shot Remus a flat glare. "Like I'd do that."

"You did the equivalent to the ball-stand with your foot, Nick. Look, all I'm asking is that you try to keep an open mind until he's finished explaining. This isn't just about him getting some kind of absolution for what he's been. This is him trying to become someone you can trust as a Grimm."

He laughed hollowly. "God, he has so far to go…"

"What does he have to do?"

That was a fair question. How far would he have gone with Juliette to explain, re-explain, demonstrate and cajole his way back into her trust if she'd found what he was a different way? He still hadn't really forgiven the monumental fuck-up he'd made by dragging her to the trailer of weapons and scaring the living daylights out of her instead of just… introducing her to Bud, for example. Properly. That everyone made stupid decisions and had to lie at times (including his aunt for most of life), he understood. It was the way Renard operated that he couldn't stomach.

"He needs to start as he means to go on. So, being completely straight with me. Thinking about the human cost of things, not blaming all the shit he does on having to play the 'long game'. That suggests that some people are expendable. And I can't trust that kind of thinking. Ever."

Remus seemed to consider this issue of expendability a long time, like it was debateable. Long enough to make Nick feel uncomfortable. This guy was Jan's old boss? How did they get so close? Jan was as straight as they came.

"That is fair," Remus mused. "But remember one thing – he was brought up to disregard human life in favour of the needs of Royalty. You were brought up to protect it. He is changing a life-time of thinking patterns. It's a huge leap, Nick, and one that's difficult for him to prove."

Sean reappeared, staying low. "Flames are restricted to side labs and there's a clear passage out through E-block to a locked fire escape. That one we're going to have to break with a chair or something. Visibility is poor, but we should be safe. Unless we get ambushed, of course. Remus, you ok?"

"As good as I'm going to be, Sean. Thank you. Let's go."

"Wait..." Nick looked up at Renard. "Anything else you want to tell me, while I'm not armed?"

Renard looked a little pained. "You think you can only have a conversation with me when you don't have the temptation of shooting me?"

"What do you two think I am? You mentioned ambush – we're not armed. I need my Grimm up and running. You're not the only one that operates better when mad."

"I tried to kill your aunt, Kessler. Using Adalind, of course."

Nick clenched his fists and sucked air in through his nose, trying to remain focussed on the task of getting the hell out. "That was very… _efficient_, Renard. I was mad before. I'm fucking furious now."

Renard kept his gaze but breathed a little faster. "I'll explain later."

"You'd better."

**X x X**

_**I don't particularly miss you**_

by Hilde Zimmermann

_I muse on the time we've been apart  
wondering why I don't miss you more  
I've stayed in the bath since the sparrow's fart  
and ignored wild hammering on the door_

_While I create a washroom queue  
I stare to the back of beyond  
I can't see your face when I think of you  
Your eyes are like my murky pond._

_You're not a jerk or ugly mug  
you just lacked any vigour or vim  
and on reflection, I realised  
I'd rather screw that grey-eyed Grimm._

Warwick hastily swallowed the unsuccessful mouthful of coffee he'd just taken, slamming his hand over his mouth to prevent the spray-out that nearly occurred over that unexpected last line. He did _not_ want to spray all over Hilde's quilt. She had him tucked up on the couch with hot drink, a sandwich and potato chips as well as the pile of poems, and while she did all this quietly and in a fairly muttery way, he'd never felt so mothered. She stared at him expectantly from the other end of the couch and he ran his fingers agitatedly through the remains of his hair.

"I haven't finished that one yet," Hilde threatened, "but what do you think?"

Oh, Christ. He hunted for the good parts. "Um... your scansion's quite good. And um... your sense of topography is very keen..."

"Topography?"

"Sense of place. I can uh... almost see the queue of people waiting to go to the can while the washroom is being occupied. Very visual. And ah... it's detailed, too. Sparrow's fart. Very specific. Very important to be specific in poetry―"

"Warwick. Is it any good?"

He wished he could text the whole thing to Jan and ask for the perfect diplomatic reply, but he was on his own. He did his best with a winning smile, feeling completely naked with his hair off his face, totally unable to hide his desperation or discomfort. She'd done a really good job of the cut to be fair (even if he now looked stalkerishly like a teenaged version of Nick) and she talked to him like an adult. There were worse places to be.

"Ah… Hilde? I'd… really like to carry on staying here, but I don't want to hurt your feelings. And make you want me out."

"Too bad to be honest about, hein?" Her eyes were wide with appeal.

"Um…" He bit his lip.

She beamed at him. "Excellent! Oh, this makes me _so_ happy. My poetry can even make a goth despair."

"Emo," Warwick said automatically, but scratched his head, too bemused to be relieved. "Huh?"

"How bad is it? On a scale of 1-10, where ten might actually make you woge?"

Warwick scratched his head. "Huh? Um... six." The lady was nuts. Nice, but nuts.

She handed him another one that made him flinch on every line, even without the mental images of Hilde screwing Nick. "And this?"

He waded his way through the sonnet, about a cat trying to cross the I-5 at a ringroad while on a skateboard, only to come to a premature halt and messy end as a station wagon passed by. "Oh God... that's an 11... no offence."

"None taken. How," Hilde demanded, "Do I get these…" she handed him a sheaf – "to be as bad as this '11'?"

He considered the 11 and tried to encapsulate its genius terribleness. "Well... these ones cover quite sad topics, but the tone is very… matter of fact. They lack sadness in style. There's no… angst in most of these. Your 11 is _really_ angsty, while being very full of…information."

"Are you good at angst?"

Warwick grinned. You can take the bangs off an emo, but... "Yeah, I can do angst. Why are we deliberately creating terrible poetry?"

"I have a virtual lab partner. We message in the morning to exchange data and unwanted small talk," Hilde grunted. "She is a morning person, you know? At half six she is all 'Oh Sun! Oh Joy!' whereas I am more 'Oh… fuck _off_.' She needs some misery in her life. Some balance. I thought I would send her a little book of poems for a Christmas present."

"How kind." He chuckled quietly to himself while adding mood-sapping adjectives to her poems with her purple pen, enjoying himself hugely. "Will she know what a Grimm is?"

"Oh yes. I think she even has a Nick-pic in her locker, next to all her pink and fluffy things. It would not surprise me. Go on Warwick, write me some misery. I have work to do, in the meantime."

X x X

"Just while you're still a captive audience - I have a genuine question."

Jan raised his eyebrows at Wu. He hoped this didn't involve catfood or preproductive tendencies. "Ye-es?"

"How did you keep Nick from finding out? Back in the day, I mean, when he was your rookie? I mean, you were pretty tight, and he really picks up on stuff. I mean, there was this one time when I came over all strange in this weird tea-shop and when I woke up, he was on my couch, looking after me. And when I had that weird Pica attack..."

Jan chuckled. Well, at least that one was easy. "Distraction. I let him think I was a womaniser. He was too busy being shocked by the stream of girls through my apartment to notice unhoovered mane fur."

"Whereas actually, you're gay?"

Jan frowned. Where did people get this idea that... "John, there is a big middle ground between philanderer and gay."

"You're not gay? Oh. Right. Well, it'd be cool if you were, is all I'm saying. So.. you're a bi lion king?"

Jan gaped but Livvy dived in with an answer for him. "I think he loves people, not parts, Wu. But... the womanising thing makes no sense. You can't even say the word without looking appalled, so how did you act it so well?"

He was about to explain that copying his ex-boss, Remus, helped a lot, but Wu's beeper went off and he frowned. "Bronze command moment - and the incident is... here!"

Jan turned the corner into the campus, in front of a frat house, and they all instantly saw what the problem was. A swarm of students spreading out from the sports hall onto a quadrant of grass in front of it, vicious fighting taking place in the middle of a crowd, and smoke billowing from a long, thin building running alongside the hall on the left with a small courtyard in between, created by a joining corridor half way down the back of the hall. The case would have to wait - there were no uniforms on the ground. They all leapt out of the car and Jan looked to Wu.

"Ok - we're cops, we're yours - where do you need us?"

"You guys, try to settle that fight, then start herding the students to a muster point behind the frat house - away from the quadrant and the building."

As Jan jogged off towards the pack surrounding the fight in the middle of the grass quadrant, he heard a screech of brakes and looked back to see Denny leap from the SUV and slam the door. Jan cringed slightly for the paint. Denny and Wu stood conferring for a moment, then Denny got on the phone – presumably to dial up further assistance.

He turned back, expecting to see at least some of the students drift past him over to the rear of the frat house but they were now clustered in a thick ring around a fight in the middle of the grass. Jan looked around for Livvy, didn't see her anywhere, then pulled his way through the donut of chanting, shouting students to pull the fight apart. Two big guys smacked a much smaller one between them like a football while Livvy was trying to pull their victim away, shouting and flashing badge, before he became seriously injured. Jan got between the beaters, a neck in each hand, and pitched them over backwards, giving Livvy room to protect the kid on the floor, who was curled up in a ball, coughing and heaving. She pulled him out of the line of fire and leant to check him over.

Jan looked around at the gawking onlookers, probably most of them good kids normally, incensed by the mob behaviour. Not one of them had tried to help the young guy that Livvy was gently trying to pick up off the grass, some of them even cheering fight on. He went into apoplectic Dad mode, using the tone he'd never actually used with Theo, but felt like it when he refused to leave the house unless dressed as the correct hero. He pointed furiously back at the frat house.

"THERE IS A FIRE! GET OVER THERE. STAY OVER THERE. ONE OF YOU SETS FOOT BACK ON THIS LAWN AND I WILL KEEP YOU OFF EVERY COLLEGE LIST FOR THREE YEARS!"

They silenced immediately, but didn't move. Jan rumbled a growl through his throat and let the teeth show, for a fraction of a second. There was a murmur of doubt in the crowd: had they seen that? Had they not? Sideways glances, glances back at the burning E-block, and increasingly an appropriately urgent surge past him towards the frat house. Jan bore down on the guys who'd been on the upper side of the fight, cuffing the bigger guy first and reading his rights for pleading against a charge of assault. It was an easy arrest – the guy was still too winded to do anything but kneel and wheeze. The other kid broke from his panicked stare and backed up, snatching a knife out of his pocket.

"You can't get us kicked out," the kid spluttered. "Our parents will..."

"Kill you?" Jan offered wearily. "Are they members of a mob?"

"N-No..."

Jan looked at him seriously. "Are they Verrat?"

"V-Veh-what?"

No, then. "In that case, they won't. They will ground you until you're 30, but will otherwise do the best they can to protect you from what you've done. However, _I_ might kill you if you don't put that away. I have another job to do here." Like find Nick and Renard, he thought, and this guy was wasting his time. Jan descended on him mercilessly. It was a really, really small knife. The guy was only 6-3 or so.

An older lady finally fought her way through the back of crowd, red –faced, angry and wearing Phys Ed gear. She marched up to the kid Jan was trying to arrest and before he could wave the woman back, the kid snatched her round the throat, pointing the blade at her neck.

"Riley! What the hell are you—"

"I'm not leaving this college!"

Jan caught sight of no-longer-winded guy out of the corner of his eye, trying to get to his feet and charge (ludicrously), still with his hands behind his back. Casually, he pushed him over backwards by his face then pinned him lightly. Wu was on the case with the Riley and the teacher, standing right in front of them, gun in his hand.

"Let the lady go, Riley." Wu was right on top them, almost, not backing up at all.

"Don't use my name!"

The teacher took a sharp intake of breath as Riley snagged her shoulder with the blade to show he meant business, but didn't yell. She stared fixedly at Wu, shaking but composed and silent, looking desperately at the gun. Jan saw Wu give her a discreet nod.

"Put the gun DOWN!" Riley screamed again.

"Ok, no one is getting shot. Alright? This situation is out of hand, that's all," Wu said soothingly, and bent at the knees. "The gun is going down. Gun on the floor...see the gun going down?" Wu stood, slowly. "Where's the gun, kid?"

"On the gr—" Riley repeated, hypnotised, but didn't get the chance to finish because Wu's flying fist came straight out from the shoulder with full karate strength and smacked the kid backwards, completely insensible, knife flying.

"And... perp's on the floor." Wu shook the pain out of his fist, flipped Riley onto his front and cuffed him. "Could you tidy these two away? I gotta see this lady to the car, guide the uniforms in..."

"Sure." Jan grinned at John's retreating back as he led the Phys Ed teacher away across the quadrant, a hand on her shoulder, talking quietly. He knew there was a reason he'd talked Wu into Bronze Command. He hauled Riley over his shoulder, grabbed the other guy by the elbow and dragged them over to where the blue-light guys — cops and EMTs —were just starting to appear on the scene.

: : : : :

In a weird way, because she'd interrogated them and they'd helped, Livvy felt responsible for the Three blind mice kids (or Rynigin, as Nick'd called them) who'd given up Presley. She felt bad for Eric, the kid now rolling around on the gurney in the back of the ambulance, probably with a couple of broken ribs.

"Why did they start in on you?"

"They were... were trying to get back into... E-block, to get their coursework," Eric half-sobbed. "I saw Presley and two huge ... guys in the graduate lab and they set it on fire. I told them not to go in and… that's how they react when they're told what to do. I think...Taylor and Tom are still in the... undergrad lock-up room!"

Livvy pulled his oxygen mask off. Taylor was another of the other informants. 'Tom', she didn't recognise. She kept her voice steady. "Why in the _under_grad lockup?"

"...were trying to save the rest of Sansom's stuff. He was making special stuff for Tom, in case he got sick. I can't... explain... long story... but Mike kept all his stuff there to hide it."

"Wesen stuff?" she ventured, and Eric stared at her. "Yeah, I know about wesen. Even longer story. What is Tom?"

"Ogre." Eric coughed and winced as one of the EMTs clambered into the ambulance around her and started checking out his ribs. "He only found out recently. He's a little shaken. His temper's kind of on-off. But he's a good guy – kind of innocent. Please don't let anything happen to them..."

"What about Pete?"

"Didn't come in today... he's... laying low."

"Ok." Livvy stood and squeezed Eric's arm. "Take it easy. I'll check in on you later."

She stepped out of the ambulance to find Denny and report the possibility of people still being stuck in E-block so that he could allocate resources as necessary when they arrived, but he, Jan and Wu had their hands full with discontent among the students which was rising in heat and volume, smaller fights breaking out here and there, months or maybe years of resentment steaming to the surface over… something. She jogged down to E-block, just to see if she could see anything through the outside windows on the far side from the sports hall, but stayed well away from the room that clearly held the blaze. In one of the rooms, she had no idea which from outside, she saw and recognised Taylor in the same moment, on the floor near the lab door, totally out cold. Crap.

She looked back, waved vigorously at Jan, but his arms were full of struggling leonine teenager. The pack of students was steadily splitting into two, and she was making out all kinds of inhuman faces flickering on and off out of her vision from the distance. Most of them wesen. Maybe the whole frathouse was wesen. Most of them nasty ones. Apart from the Ryni-whatever. She could feel the heat through the window and thought she'd at least go in and check that Taylor had a pulse, then go one of the guys to help move him out. There was no sign of 'Tom'. She took off a boot, smashed the window with it, careful to ram in any shards that could cut her on the frame, then slipped in behind the Cabinet area, unholstering her Colt before sliding out into the open. Not that she hadn't announced her presence to anyone inside by smashing the window in, of course, but … procedure, procedu―

She got hit from behind before she'd moved four feet. Her legs went a little boneless and she slithered down the cabinet, holding her head, then managed a half-screech as she was shot in the shin with her own gun. She saw Presley pass into the next room through a connector door before passing out.

**X x X**

Nick, Renard and Remus got the door open, coughed their way down the corridor in E-block, hunkering low, which seriously impeded their progress. On their left, the barely painted breezeblock wall of the sports hall: on their right, the series of classrooms and labs. They passed the graduate's common room, and even through smarting eyes, Nick picked up the name 'Dr W Presley' on the list of passholders outside the door. Seemed so weird to see that written down... Doctor Warwick. Not even seventeen yet, not allowed a life, yet. Poor kid. Right next to the common room door, a glass box with an ancient firehose and axe. Some smart Alec had put a sign on it, reading 'in the event of fire in _this _block, do not fuck with hose, get the hell out!'

Good advice, Nick thought. They staggered on, past the graduate lab where a blaze had taken hold, the heat having already blown the glass out of the window of the door. A retina-searing burst of white from the bottom shelf of a rack spelt the end of a pot of magnesium. Nick found himself temporarily blinded, pulled forward by Remus, rather than the other way round.

"You ok, Nick?"

"Yeah, I just... was facing the wrong way...ow… Jeez." He rubbed his eyes. Vision returned quickly enough. He heard a quiet, muffled bang, then nothing. "Did you guys...?"

"I heard something," Renard agreed.

Nick looked in through the smoke of the undergraduate lock-up area and saw a kid on the floor between two of the lab tables, out cold. One of the rear windows was smashed, behind the Cabinets. He tried the handle with his forearm, shirt pulled down. It wasn't hot, but it was locked. He handed Remus to Renard and ran back for the fire axe, which thankfully didn't require drama to remove from its case. The handle worked. He ran back to the lock-up room and brought the axe down on the lock a few times, weakening the tumbler-and-bolt mechanism just enough for him to kick the door open. His legs were going to suffer like hell over the next few days, he knew.

The muffled banging came from a cupboard at the back of the storeroom, and he dashed over to unbolt it, axe still in his hand, poised. The yelling from inside sounded deep and panicked. He slid the four deadbolts and a guy in his early twenties stumbled out, confused and ... Fully Siegbarste. The guy stared him up and down, then gaped a little. Then just looked interested. And a little pleased. "So Grimms _do _carry axes!"

Ok, Nick thought. A kid in a man's body. Make the best of it. He pointed down at the unconscious kid on the floor and said as firmly as possible through his splutters: "Please carry him!"

"Taylor!" The Siegbarste bent down and snatched his friend off the floor, looking desperately worried. "Is he ok?"

Nick took a pulse – all fine. Taylor was also breathing, albeit breathing smoke. "Nasty bang on the head. Run on ahead, get him out of here."

"I'm Tom," the big guy offered suddenly, then sprinted off with his friend, blundering through the exit further down the corridor, which Renard and Remus had clearly broken through, judging by the back-suck of smoke to the left and slight clearing in that part. The banging noises hadn't stopped. Someone else still here...

Renard called to him through the smoke. "Nick! Get the hell out here!"

He tried to call back, but couldn't get the lung capacity. The noises grew louder, then he heard a bellow of rage and stumbled towards the undergraduate laboratory itself, where Presley was shooting out the locks on all the stock cupboards, frantically trying to find something. Knowing that his axe wasn't going to do much against a gun, Nick tried to back up and out quietly to get better armed before returning and taking Presley down. Yelling from just outside the block distracted him for just a second, and this was all that was needed for Presley to swoop over and smack him round the face with his gun. Nick just had time to deduce that he must've run out of bullets before hitting the lab table and sliding to the floor.

: : : : :

Denny was seriously about to lose his rag with the prick from the Mayor's office, who'd joined him and Gerry on speakerphone, demanding a full explanation for every blue-light unit Denny requested. Some squad cars had arrived, but nowhere near enough because half the students that needed medical attention were so violent they needed to be taken away under police escort. He needed EMTs on motorbikes to deal with the walking wounded, and where the hell were those engines?

Jan and Wu were fighting for control, containing the spread of the fight, but having to use a great deal of force to contain some of the wilder students. There were beginning to look very tired. He needed to wade in and help. The pointless, trustless questions whined on.

"Look, I'm Silver Commander here, right?" Denny barked, "I've been tactical, you're not listening, now I need to be active. You know what we need down here, now fucking send it!"

"We cannot send four engines. There is a wood-fire, caused by an abandoned car crash off the―"

"I don't give a toss! It's winter! The fire will burn the hell out of about five square yards, then go out! Get those engines here, _now_!"

"Denny," Gerry warned gently at the other end of the line, "I need you there to be my eyes, don't go get yourself fir—"

"Mr Miller, if you're expecting your military experience to be some kind of excuse to go 'operational' when the mood takes you, you can find a new job."

Denny saw Renard and Remus spill out of the E-block into the courtyard, on their knees and coughing, but no Nick. Worse, two big guys descended on them as Renard was trying to get Remus away from the building. They pelted from a car parked on the nearest corner of the grass quadrant, guns in hand. "Consider me operational!"

He ran over, shucking and dropping his jacket, and caught up with the slower of the two, grabbing his sleeve. The guy whirled round, stuck a gun in his face, then fully woged to Hasslich, all yawing jaw, awful skin and deep-set wrinkles.

"I am unmoved by your beauty," Denny observed and in the split-second of puzzlement, snapped his forearm sideways and down to get the gun out of his face and booted the Hasslich in the testicles with the ball of his foot. His foe went down with a vomity slither, thankfully not on his nice, shiny boot. He grabbed the gun, tossed it to Remus, saw Renard head back into the building, at the same time as an absent-looking young guy went back in as well. Remus defended himself from _his_ Hasslich with a pistol-whip backhand that cracked the man sideways, and Denny gently completed the concussion by grabbing him by the back of the collar and throwing him on the floor, face-down. He waved an officer over, who cuffed them both.

"Double cuffs and escort for these guys, please," Denny panted. "They're a right pair of trolls."

"Thank you, Mr Miller," Remus murmured. "Very timely."

They leapt back a step as Renard and a particularly nasty Geier burst out from inside the building, their fight spilling first into the courtyard, then progressing onto the grass. No weapons. All elbows, fists, throws and boots. Claws, too, in the case of the Geier. Renard was definitely on top of things, Denny noted, and Remus was deliberately holding back, letting Renard get on with it. Something personal was going down here, clearly, but all Denny gave a shit about at this point was his mate.

"Remus?" he yelled, "Where's Nick?"

Remus snapped to attention. "He's not out? Oh, Jesus Christ... there was so much smoke, I couldn't see straight... I thought..."

"Nick's still in there?" Renard roared suddenly, from the grass, and his momentary loss of concentration cost him his advantage. Geier-guy head-butted then cold-cocked Renard, tipping him onto his back and exposing his neck to his sharp blue fingers. Remus fired before he could take Renard's throat out. A single shot to the temple. Then lowered the gun regretfully, as Denny stood, staring, wondering how Warwick was going to take the news of a closed-casket funeral for his father. It was definitely his father, now that he'd shifted back to human. Warwick had a lot of his face. Thank god, nothing of his mind.

Remus trotted over to Renard and rolled him over onto his side. "I'm sorry, Sean. You tried to do the right thing."

Denny's thoughts rocketed back to Nick at the prospect of the bad news being broken and he was about to drop down to shuffle underneath the smoke, when the slightly absent-looking guy appeared from the corridor, sooty, and dragging Nick out in reverse. He didn't stop dragging Nick even when he got to the grass, so Denny went after him, only to find himself looking into the eyes of a much younger, full Siegbarste, clearly not far past his first woge. Nick wasn't out cold and was trying to wriggle round onto his front so he could cough properly. Denny approached cautiously, but the young Siegbarste grabbed Nick jealously.

"MY GRIMM!"

Denny groaned inwardly, not sure he had the energy for this kind of fight, if it came down to it. "Um... no, son. _Our _Grimm, if anything, and I think you'll find..." he bit back a smile as Nick's faculties returned fully and he detangled himself from the Siegbarste's grip. "I think you'll find that _our _Grimm doesn't particularly want to be 'claimed.'"

"Wasn't claiming him. W's just trying to help," the kid muttered. "He was on the floor."

"Why were you in there?"

"Cause he was on the floor."

Nick and Denny exchanged a glance. Clearly a good, harmless soul, this lad, but it looked like it was going to be one of _those_ conversations where you had to start from a gentler point. "Son, how did you know he was on the floor?"

"I clean the floors here, and I notice things like a Grimm lying on them."

Nick made a very valiant effort to keep a straight face. "My name's Nick. And thanks, by the way."

"I'm Tom."

"I know," Nick said mildly, feeling the gash on his face. "I remember that part."

Denny noticed his sideways glance over at Remus, and the still unconscious Renard. He decided to leave them alone for a few minutes, and take the stray Tom with him. "If you want to be useful, there's some people that need sitting on, and possibly even need a slap. You going to come and help?"

"Yeah!"

Denny sighed. "Good lad." He jogged off back to the student fighting, Tom in hot pursuit.

**X x X**

Nick waved over some paramedics for Renard, which Remus had done but none had arrived, and looked at Presley's crumpled body. "Did he…?"

"No," Remus said. "That was me. He was going for Sean's carotid. I had no choice."

"Right." He still wasn't sure how he was going to tell Warwick.

"I will talk to his son," Remus said suddenly. "My shot, my responsibility. I need to explain why it needed to be done."

"Be gentle," Nick murmured. "Not blunt. Please?"

"Of course." Remus cleared his throat and accepted Nick's hand up from the ground as a gurney was wheeled over. He also handed over the gun he'd been holding. Nick holstered it, for now. They all needed to move further from E-block, now. The heat was intensifying. "Just so you know, he heard what you said. About starting as he meant to go on. He tried to take Presley down without killing him. I think it's important that I tell you this."

Nick appreciated that. Renard was loaded up onto a gurney and moved to the other side of the grass quadrant in the medics' queuing line. Nick walked with him. The Captain had a significant cut on his head, claw slashes here and there, a pretty bad concussion going on behind the flickering eyelids. "I'll come check on him in a bit. The situation over there's getting – WHOA!" Nick saw the lowen guys who'd tried taking blood from him earlier grab Wu and throw him against a tree. That was more than enough.

Nick stormed over, brimming with wrath. Jan had the Lowen boys firmly in hand, with a little help from Tom, and there was a gap between the two groups of students now, like they'd taken sides in a war. The weird thing was, there were mild species and wild species either side of the invisible line, which just went to show that there was no such division of breed and personality. One group was much larger than the other, looking angry, rather than venomous. Vengeful. Fed up. The students had clearly raided the frathouse for improvised weapons during the whole fire because bottles were being thrown, teenagers smacked to the ground with months of stitches in their near future. This kind of scene, this mob violence, got right under his skin. It was the complete lack of thinking. No care that people would get hurt. No care that lives would change or that serious injuries, death would result – no – this was all about anger and ego and impotent fury, leaving a whole bunch of casualties in its wake.

Nick marched into the middle of it and roared. A bottle had released into the air a split second before and he snatched it and dropped it before it could brain him. They quietened down. They'd silenced even as he caught the bottle.

Anger building up from Juliette's furtive departure, Hank's poisoning, Adalind… being Adalind… boiled over and he could feel the Grimm voice blasting through him even without meaning it.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU?"

He looked around. Not many gazes staring back at him. Most of them found a different patch of grass to stare at. Nick pointed at the long line of kids with stitches, broken arms, glass wounds – too many to get into ambulances right now.

"Is this a species fight?"

The pale, shaky face of one of the Reinigen kids emerged from the larger half of the crowd. He still didn't look at Nick. "They've been terrorising us way too long. We've had it. We're not in high school anymore. We didn't come to college to be bullied, hounded and harassed. And pressured into taking dangerous drug shit to make us 'better'."

"And this is the answer?" Nick pointed at the long queue of students, bleeding, broken bones, concussions… "killing each other?"

"We didn't know there was a Grimm to sort this stuff out!"

"I HAVEN'T EXACTLY BEEN HIDING!" Jesus, didn't these wesen ever talk to each other? What did he have to do to convince people that separatism wasn't the answer?

"No," the kid said, "but it's not like you've got a batphone either, is it?"

Nick almost smiled in spite of himself. That might not be such a bad idea. A bit more progressive than a Grimm alarm next to the fire alarm in a wesen nightclub. His anger came down a notch. There was another point there – where were they supposed to take their wesen issues? Their social, wesen issues? It wasn't something that the college or the law or the arbitration services could deal with – an age old feud between different species of wesen. Maybe that's what they needed the Royalty for. Except that the Royalty appeared to exist for themselves, not for their wesen. Except Renard. Perhaps. Now that he knew he was Hexenbiest, and Royalty, and that he must have seen a lot of wesen cases come and go…. And tried to get fair results on most of them…

Nick backed off, still steaming, but weary. He kept a decent volume into his voice. "Get yourselves cleaned up. Statements will be taken. Some assault charges will be made. Do your community service, talk to each other, get on with your lives. Next time there's a war brewing, you know where I work. Talk to me before it gets out of hand."

Nick trailed over to the ambulances, hoping Livvy wasn't in one of them. It'd been a vicious fight. No Livvy. He jogged over to Jan. "When did you last see Livs?"

Jan paled.

The Reinigen kid who'd spoken up came over. "Where's the girl detective? I just wanted to tell her that I found Tom and Taylor. They're ok, after all―"

"We got them out the undergraduate lock-up," Nick choked. "If she'd gone looking for them…"

Jan literally dropped the arrestee he'd been holding and sprinted across the lawn to e-block. Nick kept pace, feeling his pulse doing 200 in his chest. They got to the smashed exit doors in the courtyard and Jan plunged into the corridor, bearing left and disappearing completely into the smoke. Nick made to follow but a huge hand clapped onto his shoulder, pulling him back. He heard a roar from inside, barely drowned out by the sound of the fire engines finally showing up and pulling up on the quadrant.

"Denny―"

"Don't even think of it, Nick!"

"My partner's in there!"

"SO'S FUCKING MINE!" Denny yelled back, then seemed to recover himself, realise what he'd actually said, then more mildly pulled Nick back from the courtyard, both of them shaking with anxiety. "Look, Jan can handle himself. We… don't have the lung capacity for that. He might be able to take it. Or at least recover from it… let's… let's not make his job any harder by becoming casualties ourselves. Yeah?"

They heard another roar, banging… at least some activity was going on in there.

Nick and Denny paced as the firecrews moved into position. They plunged into the building just as Jan plunged out holding Livvy, who was sooty and spluttery and wearing half his clothes, it seemed – his vest over her face, his shirt round her leg. Nick took her from him and ran off to the medic queue with her. All ambulances full – some incoming. He sat down on the grass and bundled her across his lap with a handheld oxygen canister and a blanket. Then noticed her eyes were open.

"Livvy? What the _hell_ were you doing in there?"

"It's not… as… dumb as it looks…" she managed between splutters. "There was … method in the madness."

"I can't wait to hear what that is!" Nick raked her hair out of her face and tried to clean some of the soot off. "I feel like the worst partner _ever._"

"You're pretty Grimm," she said faintly, and swatted his arm. He rolled his eyes and swatted her back. Gently. A twinge of pain made her jolt against him and he lifted the blanket gingerly to peer underneath.

"What did you hurt?"

"Head. Leg. Shot in the leg."

"God, Livvy!" Ok, now he felt awful. The shirt Jan had tied round her leg was soaked through already and he bellowed for a paramedic, refusing to believe that some kid with baseball bat splinters should take priority. Her breathing was getting a little ragged and her eyes were closing drowsily. Shock. Nick shook her, trying to keep her with it. "SOME HELP OVER HERE?"

An EMT guy slipped her leg into an orange plastic brace and winced sympathetically as he cut the shirt off to replace it with a proper bandage. "I'm sorry, ma'am. You're going to need a plate in that, looks like."

"NO!"

Her yell nearly scared the crap out of him. Nick held her hand to stop her from grabbing urgently at his shirt. It was open… enough already. "What?"

"You… can't… let them … operate. You just can't."

"Livvy, I've got to let them do what they need to do. It's not down to me to tell them not to operate. Are you phobic or something?"

Her eyes rolled alarmingly. "No… you don't understand… I'm… I'm wearing my worst… possible undies." Her face tipped against him and she nodded off, sweaty and pale.

"Livvy?" Crap. Out cold. Denny loomed over him. Nick looked up glumly. "I'm the worst partner ever."

"I dunno, Nick. I think it may be a match made in heaven. You talk bollocks when you're coming round, she talks bollocks when she's passing out…"

"Funny." Nick indicated Jan, sitting on the grass under a blanket, taking in oxygen. "He ok?"

"Yeah. I've done my shouting. Given my lecture about him scaring the tits off me. I'm now five minutes into my requisite half-hour sulk."

Nick smiled. The idea of someone being able to bellow and roar at Jan for five minutes solidly without being hit was quite appealing. Only Denny could get away with it. There was another match made in heaven, as far as he was concerned.

But Denny wasn't smiling anymore. He was staring in disbelief at the sight of Renard sprinting towards E-block like a lunatic. "What the fuck's he doing…?"

Nick heard his name being called over and over as the Captain staggered, got himself up again, and kept going, straight towards the burning building. The firecrews on the other hand were rapidly retreating from the block, waving everyone away, then sprinting away from the block, and… Denny gave chase, as did Remus, but he was too far ahead. Suddenly there was no one between him and the building and there was an implosive bang from inside, near the back of the sports hall.

Trapped under Livvy and with no hope of catching up, Nick fumbled for the gun Remus had given him, swung it up and fired three shots off. One of them caught Renard in the back of the leg and pitched him face first on the ground as a second blast rocked the building and sent the glass blasting out into the courtyard and all the way round. He could see the Captain yelling and rolling in the distance and clutching his leg.

Nick lowered the gun, shakily. He'd shot his Captain.

How did he do that so easily? He could've shot a fireman. Or Remus. Or Denny. What the hell was he thinking?

Shot… his Captain. Yes, he was furious with him. Was that what he was capable of, when angry? Revolted at himself, he tossed the gun to one side and fully expected a smack around the conscience with a shovel when Remus left Renard in the hands of paramedics, again, and walked over to him. Nick could barely meet his eye. Was this really what anger did to him?

"He ok? Stupid question, I just shot him, but…"

"It was a clean shot. It's going to hurt like a bastard, but it will be fine. He also has a little debris to deal with. But if you _hadn't_ shot him… he'd be very, very dead."

That didn't make him feel any better at all. "I shot him," Nick repeated pointlessly, then gave a nervous smile that he didn't feel at all. "When he comes to explain trying to kill my aunt, my moral advantage will be completely out of the window."

Remus shook his head. "You must not forget that Sean lived for 'the bigger picture'. It wasn't anger that pulled the trigger, Nick. It was compassion. He will definitely understand that you chose the lesser of two evils."

**Recoveries all round coming soon!**


	14. Resettlement

**Ok… and the first part of the aftermath, in which Nick and Renard manage to have a chat during which nothing gets kicked, lol. I hope you enjoy. **

**Thanks so, so much for reviews – they really do help and they're so much appreciated. **

**And onwards we go….**

**X x X**

Denny caught Nick's arm before he climbed into Livvy's ambulance with Wu and mumbled a vague, red-faced apology for roaring at him back at the courtyard. He was stressed. It was a Freudian slip: Jan absolutely wasn't his partner, at least only in terms of looking after the kids, which _someone_ would have to do if something dire happened to him in the line of duty, and if he could just keep that little blurt to himself...

A small grin tugged at the corner of Nick's mouth. "I think it was the loudest Freudian slip in the history of time, but I'll do my best to 'keep it to myself'."

Denny nodded gratefully. "You alright, by the way? You know Renard's going to be ok, yeah?"

"I keep telling myself that. At some point I'll start listening, too."

Denny clapped Nick on the shoulder as he went to go. Stopping only to reclaim his jacket from the now-boggy grass of the sports centre quadrant, he stalked to the car to find Jan - still half bare, sooty and dishevelled - talking quietly to Tom through the open window and handing over his card. Tom toddled away from the car, looking happy for a moment, with this important thing in his hand, then met his eyes and looked alarmed, pointing back at Jan guiltily.

"Y-yours?"

"Mine," Denny agreed wearily, choosing to respond to this very basic Siegbarste possession reflex in an equally basic way... with a small degree of refinement. "It's alright, son. You were just having a chat. Nothing to worry about, is there?"

"Need a new job," Tom offered vaguely. "He said he'd help. I'm going to hospital with Eric an' Taylor. Bye!"

Bless him. Denny bit back a chuckle as he got behind the driver wheel, passed his jacket to Jan to cover up with, and pulled out. "I hope you weren't offering him anything in the precinct, mate. If anyone goes for 'his Grimm' in the squadroom, they'll get death-by-mop. I'm _not_ joking."

"I didn't promise anything," Jan said, pulling on the borrowed jacket and zipping up. "Just that I would ask around for different opportunities for him. He doesn't want to stay at the college, even if the 'meaner' students get kicked out. Last week someone put a dead mouse in his cleaning bucket, and that's just part of a long line of stunts played on him."

"What?" Denny was furious just thinking about that. Little shits!

"Something got a grip on those kids, Denny. The ones that were being outnumbered had this mass, group desire to be something else. Half of the other side were raging about the way they'd been treated. The other half got sucked into the fight drama... thank God Nick was able to bellow some sense into them. If he hadn't gone Grimm, we'd have been there all night, trying to break things up."

Which brought Denny's mind rather uncomfortably to the fact that he'd been rather less than the Silver Commander expected of him, to the point that he'd been effectively fired on the phone. Booted, barely a day into the job. Actually - officially - minus a day. He didn't even have his uniform made yet. After all that effort Jan had put into setting up the incident command structure and getting it accepted by the Mayor's office... Denny shifted uneasily in his seat, wondering when to gently point out that he might have fucked up his mate's return to his Captaincy. He'd only been demoted to get out of the Netherlands on humanitarian transfer. A successful pilot run of his system would've helped restore his position much more quickly.

Ok, so it wasn't his fault that the support he'd asked for hadn't arrived. The point was... he was in charge on the ground, and the whole thing was a bloody fiasco. And it all had Jan's name tied to it. And if there was one thing he'd learnt from his whole miserable experience moving to that secondary school with its parents from hell – mud stuck. Bollocks – he had to say something. He had a hard enough conversation looming over him as it was.

"Uh look… about that. The 'incident' this morning. I think you should know, before it gets back to you another way, that I got fired halfway through."

"WHAT?"

The suddenness of this un-Jan-like wrath made him swerve. "Christ, mate! Don't roar while I'm driving!"

"Sorry…" Jan looked flustered. "Why… how?"

"I 'went operational'. In other words, according to the prick from the Mayor's office, I wasn't supposed to take this job as an opportunity to join a punch-up, but to direct resources on the ground. Which I tried to do, but―"

"Nothing turned up," Jan muttered bitterly. "Did you make your requests clear?"

Denny was reasonably sure that he was pretty polite the first three times – before the urgency of the situation brought out his tendency with the blue language. "Yes, absolutely positive."

"Then appeal. If all the calls came through the incident line, they will be recorded and you can demonstrate the position you were put in. They can't behave like that. It's outrageous. And I'll certainly be putting in my line, as will Wu, that in those circumstances, we certainly weren't going to refuse support from a former grunt."

"Squaddie," Denny corrected mildly. Officer, actually, but still… Jan had his back. Again. Without questioning it. "Thank you. I didn't particularly want to maintain my fired-first-day record. It was a bloody horrible mess of a situation, though."

"Indeed." Jan wiped his face wearily. "God knows how I'm going to write this one up. Might need Wu's help." Then he blinked in sudden apparent memory. "Wu knows about me, by the way. I had to out myself. His car was on fire."

"Ah. Not much choice, then. Does he know about Nick?"

"No, I contained disclosures to me only. That's Nick's decision to take, not mine. I hope he's alright. He's probably a nervous wreck after shooting Renard."

Denny pulled into their driveway and ignored Jan's silent but usual cringe at his kerb-crunch. That wound Denny right up, sometimes. Jan was never foolish enough to try any actual backseat driving, but his posture was noisy enough. "He's got a lot to chew over. Hopefully Renard's redeemed himself a bit. Make things a bit easier for him."

Denny certainly hoped so. If Nick could get past what Renard had been, they'd make a good team.

: : : : :

They clambered out and went up to the house. Jan politely paid and dismissed the babysitter while Denny nipped next door to claim their cookies from Shelley. Once showered, he set up his laptop and dived for the cookies. He found himself eating air when he reached for a crunchy one only to have it literally snatched from his fingertips. Denny replaced it with a smooth one. He grinned. There was a degree of sophistication in Denny when it came to his possessive reflex, but it stopped where it came to snacks or beer.

It took him a few hours to get the report done. Once finished and emailed to Wu for a second opinion, he made his statutory next-of-kin call to Livvy's ex-fiance, which was a charmless and pointless experience that made his fists itch. Graham Caveney had asked a few terse questions about Livvy's prognosis, and then launched into some tirade about a cake being slammed into his face and needing urgent dentistry as a result.

He checked his personal sites before going to pick up Theo. He blinked at his twitter screen, then at the local news. Nick was trending on the student networks he'd been following since starting the case to get the feel of things at Portland State, some messages more sober than others. One was from a guy who'd been taken home from hospital and grounded for six years by his folks '_so not fair'_. A couple from girls, '_OMG_ _u HAVE to get arrested by Dtv. Burkhardt/Giant cop. How cute are they at PPD?"_ Others more juvenile still, tagging a photo of the Phys Ed teacher being led off by Wu and the message '_Coates and Cop up a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G!' _

He sighed slightly. This wasn't really the result Nick would hope for after his Grimm-tantrum. Still, one to deal with later. It was time to pick Theo up. As Denny appeared to have moulded himself into the armchair, snoozing in between cookies, he left a note but was back with his little boy before Den had even stirred. Theo jolted him awake by shoving the painting of the day under his nose and demanding feedback.

Denny rubbed his eyes. "Um…. Lovely red blobs."

"Buses, Denny!"

The doorbell rang and Jan sloped off to answer, grinning as Denny moaned about having a better chance of spotting buses if they were bus-shaped. A petite, elegant and very beautiful lady in her early sixties stood on the doorstep, dressed in a linen white suit (mysteriously uncrumpled), wearing sleek shades and an anxious expression, aimed at the doorframe.

"Can I help?" he asked quietly.

She chuckled nervously. "Heavens, you're all the way up there!" Her voice was absolute cut-glass English. "I'm Helene Grey. I was looking for Dennis Miller. I was told I could find him here." Jan noticed her hand trembling – the one holding the white cane, folded up like a lightsabre. Denny's mother.

Before he had a chance to say anything, Jan heard the rough and tumble stop suddenly from inside, and Denny murmur 'hang on mate,' to Theo. He appeared at his side a moment later, pale and disbelieving.

"M-Mum?"

"James?" She looked up and her face filled with sunlight.

"MUM! Oh my God…"

Jan watched as Denny half-laughed, half-sobbed and snatched his mother off the floor in a huge hug, dangling her feet a couple of feet off the ground. She buried her face in his neck and Denny didn't let go for several long almost-silent moments, during which he retreated tactfully into the kitchen with Theo, explaining that not everyone wanted to keep the name they were given by their parents. Technically, Jan was Gregor, but there was no way in hell he was getting stuck with _that_.

**X x X**

"...lucky not to have struck the bone, so you can go home in a couple of days. Tomorrow, if your BP settles."

Sean attempted a smile at Dr Heath, who appeared particularly delighted at the good news she had to give him about 'mere flesh wound'. His smile probably looked as vague as it felt. He hadn't really taken in much of what she'd said at all. He remained just focussed enough to ask after Olivia Andersen and while it wasn't particularly reassuring that she'd only just come out of surgery, it was good to hear that Burkhardt had been stamping the corridors waiting to see her.

"Oh, he wanted to see you, too, by the way," Heath added with a wry smile. "He's been waiting impatiently for you to finish your 'proper rest'."

He didn't know how he felt about this. Would a meeting with Nick settle his blood pressure, or send it through the roof? It didn't really matter either way. Things between them had to be settled.

"Could you show him in, please?" Sean asked, experimenting with extra politeness while keeping his volume low. His head hurt way worse than his leg.

Nick appeared a few minutes later, an apprehensive figure in the doorway with hands in his pockets and his hair looking as if it had suffered several hours of nervous raking. He entered and closed the door behind him, drawing up a seat at his bedside. For a few long moments, they each found a different bit of blanket to stare at.

"You going to be ok?" Nick asked eventually.

"Out in a couple of days, I hope."

"Good." Nick's gaze seemed fixated on a particularly troublesome thread, which Sean was about to pick off, when suddenly Nick made complete and unnerving eye contact. "I wasn't thinking, you know. I was reacting. I saw you plunge off, I couldn't make you hear me or come back, Remus and Denny couldn't catch you―"

"That makes two of us, then. Reacting, that is. Except that you had your game-head on. I didn't." Sean didn't really want to relive the moment of complete panic of waking up, being unable to see Nick or be able to hear past the last thing going through his mind before being knocked out, which was Nick being stuck in the burning building. "The shot saved my life. I hope you haven't wasted time and energy worrying about it?"

"This is where we're different," Nick muttered. "I can't shut pointless worry away in a little room in my head and forget about it, like you can."

"Well, me neither, any more," Sean said, surprising himself with his openness, let alone Nick. So he continued as he'd started. "I've been 'just reacting' to things for such a long time, thinking I was planning, that I lost sight of a lot of things... one of which is that I can only see one angle of a situation and, usually, only one way of dealing with it. I heard what you said to Sean about me thinking that people were expendable. Yes, I did."

"And now?"

"And now I'm not sure I'm seeing 'the bigger picture' as well as I thought I was." Sean took a sip of water to settle his thumping head. "I will always believe in following a higher priority, but won't discard people on that principle. Not as a knee-jerk reaction to a bigger threat."

"As with Hank."

"And we're back to Hank..."

"_Back_ to Hank? We've barely touched on that! Don't sigh at me like I'm still bitching about some lunch date you blew off in 2010! What the hell am I meant to tell him about you? If he gets this promotion, he could wind up being my boss."

"I don't plan to put either of you in that position," Sean said wearily. "The management dynamic rarely works well between former partners. And since he knows you're a Grimm, of course he will need to know that I'm also aware. Otherwise we'll all be working at cross purposes."

Nick frowned. "How did you know he was in on the 'Grimm' thing?"

Sean could've laughed. Did Nick not think he had eyes in his head? "He's visibly more relaxed when you're doing partner briefings now, because you're finally talking off the same page again. Besides, he's hanging out with a Koninglowen, a half-Siegbarste, a Blutbad… "

Nick sat back in his seat silently for a moment. "I could've done with shedding this secrecy a long time ago."

"I wanted to tell you I knew, after you were attacked by Stark." Sean met his gaze firmly. "And I nearly did. But then you brought in a civilian to carry out an assassination. If I admitted I knew about that, I'd have had to act upon it. Officially. Look, for what it's worth, I have tried to protect Hank. I could've murdered him myself out of annoyance when he went after Stark on his own, but he broke ranks before I knew what he was planning."

"Yeah. I got the impression that his stand-off strategy wasn't department-endorsed."

"Still... I should really have seen that coming." Sean sighed. "My mind's not always on what's going on in the squadroom. I need to do something about that, in the long run. I have two sets of responsibilities now. You need to know that there are things that I'll still need to do secretly. But for basic wesen law matters, at least we can be straight with each other about our suspicions and I can feed you useful information. But only if you keep working for me. I can't watch your back properly unless I tell you what to look out for."

"Look… You going in there after me, thinking I was still in danger... that's not lost on me, you know. The risk you took. I just don't know _how_ we go forward. I'm a little... all over the place."

"I understand that. I've got some ideas, but I'll need to have a chat with Remus about ironing out the practicalities. He's got a little more experience of managing 'open multi-wesen cop teams' than I do. There's only one thing I can promise, which is that neither Hank nor Jan will be managing you directly. They'll be there for teamwork and backup, but you'll report to me."

"Alright." Nick looked a little brighter as he sat up straight. "Good. I don't want them caught in the middle either. I just don't want to be put back into a position where I'm having to lie to Hank again."

And Sean wasn't keen to see spanners thrown back into the works now that he was so close to regaining relations with Nick. "What are you going to do?"

"Sleep on it," Nick admitted. "I won't be saying anything to Hank until his Lieutenancy results come back, anyway. My feeling right now is that I tell him 75%. In other words, everything except that you used him to get to my key before others could."

That sounded more than reasonable. It could become a problem if Adalind decided to come back out of the woodwork and tell Hank all with that bitchy gleam of hers, but he planned to track her down before that happened. With Nick's help, if possible. Sean played an open hand with Nick. "You can also tell him I'm Laufer. It may help him swallow the situation. Then I can work on… undoing things I've done."

Nick stared, but had the good sense to keep his voice low. "You're… Laufer?"

"Recently recruited," Sean admitted, "and still Royal. That's going to make life complicated for a little while." To say nothing of keeping a discreet eye on Theo. God, he really needed to delegate some of the squadroom stuff so he could do all this. He really, really hoped Hank passed those exams. He could do with all the Lieutenants he could get.

Remus burst in and Sean halted him before he reached more than two feet. "Remus! _That_ is a door. You knock on them before you burst in, just so you know."

Remus grinned. He retreated, knocked, then re-entered, closing the door behind him. "So nice to be on the receiving end of a courtesy lesson, for once. How are you doing?"

"Better. Out tomorrow, hopefully."

"Ach, they kick you out still-bleeding in the States. I'd forgotten about that. So, does the feud continue, or has the ice been broken?"

"Melted, a little," Nick murmured, and Sean shot him a grateful look. "We were talking about how we were going to make things work."

"Well, you'll be delighted to hear that I have a multitude of suggestions," Remus breezed, "all of which Renard and I will need to discuss in your absence."

"You will?"

Sean was vaguely amused to see his Grimm looking irked.

"Yes, Nick, we will. It's not right for you to hear the future of other officers' careers before they do, hé? So, in the nicest way possible, clear off. By the way, a certain female detective across the hall could do with a little company. She's a little…. post-anaesthetic, so be patient, alright?"

Nick grinned and headed for the door, his gaze back saying exactly what Sean was thinking: that it may be difficult to tell the difference between Andersen high-and-drugged, and Andersen 'normal'. "I'll be back tomorrow," he offered, and he just had his hand on the door when Remus called over to him far more seriously.

"I'm seeing Warwick when I've finished here. You might want to give him a call tonight. Any time after six. He'll be informed, by then."

Nick nodded briskly, and left. Sean didn't envy him that particular conversation, and would have to add his own, when the time came. At least he'd tried to bring Presley down without firing shots. He'd done his best – his conscience was clear on that point. He watched Nick go in relief, feeling that some kind of hiatus had been reached. A lessening of tensions that lightened his heart enough to completely ignore any lingering pain in his head or leg.

He could feel his blood pressure coming down already. Even if Remus _was_ in an annoying mood.

**X x X**

If Livvy had been lively when Remus dropped in, she'd clearly tired herself out when Nick took a seat by her bed, suddenly looking very small. He scraped his chair closer and put his hand lightly over hers, waiting for her to drift back again. The quiet was abruptly punctuated by the sound of Radiohead's 'creep' blasting through the room, making him jump, and it took him a moment to locate the source to her phone, buzzing away on the little shelf built into her bedside cabinet. Livvy whimpered distantly at the sound, glowing very slightly pink even in her sleep. Nick picked the cell up, wasn't surprised to see 'creep' assigned to Graham (asshole!) as a ring tone, and cut the call off. He switched the phone to 'silent' and put it back. Then felt a light movement in his fingers.

"T'anks," she muffled from under her oxygen. "He really chooses his moments. How many times 's he called?"

Nick raised his brows. "I didn't look. Want me to check?"

She nodded and tried to huddle further under the blankets. The asshole update could wait. Nick got her an extra blanket and tucked her in up to her shoulders, then checked her phone... and didn't really want to report what he saw. Four missed calls. Six messages: the first three devoted to his disgraceful plate-slamming behaviour; the last three demands for her to confirm that she'd be out of 'his' flat by 23rd December, as agreed, so he could finally sell it. Nick really, really hoped that his cheesecake act hadn't contributed to Graham's sudden desire to make her homeless.

"Well?"

"I don't think you're well enough to go maroon on me," Nick said carefully.

She closed her eyes. "It's like that, huh?"

"I'm sorry. He seems intent on you leaving the flat by the twenty-thir―" then it struck him. "Jesus, that's days away! You'll be lucky to be out of hospital ― does he even know you're here?"

"I dunno," she said blearily. "I hope not. I'd hate to think he'd be cold enough to do that. Ask Jan."

"Why would... oh yeah." Of course. It was part of Jan's duties to make the next-of-kin calls in these situations. "Uh... for what it's worth, a lot of people at PPD really like you. There's quite a few spare rooms knocking around if you need them. Including at my place."

She gave him a sleepy grin. "That's really, really sweet of you Nick, but I think it's completely unwise."

"How come?"

"What if... I develop another mad desire to throw you backwards off your couch and tear your jeans off upside down?"

Nick flushed wildly at this little explosion of honesty. "Filter!"

"The hell with 'filter', it's a very real worry! I don't know what came over me, but you don't know how close I came to doing that the other morning!"

"We can work round it. I take pills to prevent that… kind of thing. Anti-pheromone pills. I'll just get up earlier so they have time to take effect."

She narrowed her eyes at him dangerously. "You mean... you knew perfectly well why I had to go stick my head under a tap and you said _nothing_?"

"How the hell was I supposed to explain? It's a Grimm thing. The whole Grimm-Andersen partnership was a little... new at that point. Non-existent, in fact."

"Hmmmph!"

He suppressed his smirk at her little puff of disapproval. "The offer's open. It'll be my way of saying sorry for you damn near burning to a crisp."

"That wasn't your fault."

"I was in the room where Jan found you and left without you!"

"Did you see me?"

"No!"

Livvy rolled her eyes. "So that's why you left without me. Why the hell blame yourself for what happened? I'd just started thinking that Grimms were smart after all, but _now_―"

"Don't start that again."

"Seriously, Nick. Why do you always do that?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Push yourself so hard. Give yourself such an unnecessarily hard time about things?"

He didn't think he did, actually. He was intrigued to know what she made of him – in Andersen terms. "What do you see when you deal with me?"

She crumpled her face unhappily and tried to hide under her blanket. "Oh no, let's not do this. We were just starting to get on really nicely…"

"Sounds bad?"

"You'll take it the wrong way. Nope, I'm applying the 'filter'."

Nick smiled at her. "C'mon. I'm open-minded. Give it your best shot."

"I see the ugly duckling," she muttered, almost in an undertone, and as his jaw dropped, she flipped her hands up in annoyance. "I told you! I told you you'd take it the wrong way!"

"How many ways _are_ there to take that?"

"I think you're forgetting the 'glorious swan' aspect of that particular story," she protested. "You're fixated on the duckling part, which is kind of my point."

"Ok, I'm going to be 'slow'. What _is_ your point?"

"You don't exactly focus on the best parts of yourself. Long story short, you had a difficult start and an anchorless life for most of your teens. You were probably fat for a little while―"

He spluttered. "How the _fuck _did you know that?"

"Not many guys who look like you are _that_ naturally compassionate towards people who look…um… untypical - like Warwick or Monroe when they woge, for example. Your ability to see what lies underneath someone's less-than-lovely appearance is something that usually only comes from empathy – having had a part of your life where you wished others would look beneath your appearance."

"Jesus," Nick muttered. Talk about spot-on.

"And for a Grimm, you are so amazingly calm about ghastly things screaming at you."

"Monroe and Warwick aren't 'ghastly things'."

"Ok, bad examples – they're nice. I was thinking more of people like Mrs Presley. But back to the duckling principle. Whatever you went through, you came through without being bitter about not having an anchor. A proper family. And now look at you. A swan. Surprising biceps, seriously ass-kicking, seriously cute, yet about as naturally vicious as a slice of quiche."

He blinked, trying to process this with the correct facial expression. "You say the…nicest things."

But she'd hit exactly on why he'd been so furious with Renard – overall, that was. From having been his universal constant (even when his romantic and Grimm worlds were screwed up, he still had Renard holding the cop-world steady), he'd suddenly become a universally dark figure, staining all parts of his life.

"Incidentally," she added, "I think you'll be a lot more settled when you stop trying to cope with life in terms of which of the three people you need to 'be' at any point, and start accepting that you are one very decent person with two jobs. Deal with how those overlap, and you'll be a happier bunny. Or swan. Or whatever."

They locked gazes for a very long time as he grew happier and happier, feeling like she'd unlocked a secret for him to get to grips with his life again. She'd offered him some baby steps to take. Her fervent little lecture had tipped hair into her face, which he brushed off gently and then gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thanks."

"Welcome," she mumbled distantly. "I'll think about that room, ok?"

"Sure." Nick frowned. She really looked knocked around, all of a sudden. Tired and flushed. "You ok?"

She seemed to think about this for a while. "No. But I will be. It helps having a little posse of 'big brothers'. And I made friends with Ros'ee…" she was beginning to slur pretty badly. "an' I got Jan-handled. So it's not all bad."

Nick leant forward and removed the mask for a moment. "What did you say?" Her smug little head-wiggle at the repetition of 'Jan-handled' confirmed his hearing. "Yep. That's what I thought you said." She'd nodded off again in the time it took him to roll his eyes and put her mask back. Nonetheless, she was a little too warm. He peeled a blanket back and called a nurse just to check she wasn't spiking a fever, or something.

The nurse came, upped her morphine, and went. While Livvy snoozed, he picked up his own messages, one of which was indeed from Jan, stiffly summarising the unpleasant conversation he'd had with the charming Graham Caveney, who now apparently intended to sue PPD for the cost of dental repair to one of his teeth. Nick mysteriously found himself not giving the tiniest, smelliest crap about this. Hopefully he could count on Renard's newly protective streak to help him wade past the legal crap.

Then he remembered Siege night, being wedged up against the wall, unable to move a muscle as a gun was shoved in his face, and then the sight of Renard stepping out of the darkness and blowing his would-be assassin away. Not a _newly_-protective streak, he revised, just a more visible one. There was no doubting that there were good intentions in his Captain, tucked alongside the dark ways of doing things, and it wasn't as if he hadn't had to tell lies himself - to Renard, Hank and Juliette - to pretty much everyone but Monroe - to keep his Grimm secret private.

All the feelings of relief that he'd thought he'd have about Renard knowing his secret were there. Despite the circumstances, and a dozen unasked questions remaining over Juliette, a huge weight was off his shoulders. He just needed to know how much darkness was left. And he needed to understand Renard's sudden desire to 'change' because as much as he wanted to, Nick couldn't quite believe it was all about protecting him.

Balance of darkness... maybe that's something Livvy could help him with when she woke up again. He'd love to hear what she made of their enigmatic Captain.

**X x X**

"You can pop me down now, darling," his mum chuckled, and Denny placed her slowly back on the floor inside the door, feeling more than a little dazed. "One question, just so that I know you don't have some strange stalker in your life… you _do _know a chap called Sean, don't you? And he _is_ actually a Policeman?"

Renard. He might have known. He nodded dumbly and she gave a brisk nod of satisfaction.

"Good. That's a relief. We'll natter later about the whys and wherefores of me getting to the states, but for now… tea, introductions and orientation, please!"

Having skated lightly over the key talking point (her sudden reappearance in his life) she got on with the really important stuff – the business of completely and utterly embarrassing him. It started with an unnecessarily long face-feel with Jan so she could 'acquaint herself' with how he looked. Denny cringed down to his toes with how long she took. Dustballs blew. Church bells rang. Continents drifted…

"Mum, he'll have a beard by the time you're done," he protested eventually, and Jan shot him a wicked grin as he stood, rubbing his back creakily.

Theo took the face-feel with less fortitude, squeaking and giggling as she traced her fingertips round his cheeks. "That tickles!"

"I could do this all day," she said. "Goodness me, what a dear little face!" She felt his clothes. "Is that a shirt _and _waistjacket? _And_ a tie? Heavens. You're just too stylish for words."

Jan met his eye with a grin and mouthed 'mothers!' at him, before giving him a composure breather by leading her round the house so she could do the step and corner count to build a mental map of the ground floor. Theo, entranced, went on ahead as an advance guard, throwing all the ground floor obstacles up onto the stairs to get them out of her way, asking horrendously personal questions about her blindness as he went. She answered them casually, as she always did. No, she hadn't always been blind. Yes, she remembered what a tank looked like. No, she didn't even care what colour her pants were in the morning so long as they were the right way round…

Denny grinned and made the tea while they got to know each other, but wasn't too pleased about the conversation being held as they returned, his mother snickering and Jan laughing – properly face-screwed-up laughing – and as he emerged back into the front room, wiping his eyes.

"King of the Sandpit?" Jan asked, "Why does that not come as a surprise?"

Denny groaned inwardly. Not _this _story. Again. He'd only been three, for crying out loud. "Yeah, yeah."

"Didn't he share his toys?" Theo piped.

"Darling, it was tricky enough getting him to share the sand. Toy-sharing would've been wildly optimistic."

"TEA ANYONE?"

"Alright darling, there's no need to boom." She sat herself down neatly and felt her way round the table to 'pour out'. Denny cringed through a further three or four tales of his mis-spent youth before they got chatting about Theo's nursery and the wider issue of whether separate education of wesen tots was a good thing. Denny watched the back and forth with a degree of pride: while exceptionally polite, Jan wasn't letting any balls go into his net, and his mother was the kind of negotiator that shop and market owners feared across the breadth of Surrey.

Theo eventually toddled off upstairs to play in his room and Denny got up at the same time to clear up the tea, to let them carry on chatting while he struggled to get his head around her being here, in the house. Seeing her after two years. But she insisted on helping.

"No! go sit. You'll get worn out. "

"Oh, that is absolute nonsense on stilts. I'm in my sixties, darling. I'm not decrepit."

He handed her a teatowel and guided her to the rack and a clear space for dish-stacking. In the background, Jan took some work calls on the couch, murmuring quietly and taking notes. He winced inwardly. The small matter of the fucked-up Silver command came up more than a couple of times and he realised after a couple of moments of ear-wigging that Jan was talking to the Area Commandant. He turned back to the dishes and the sink to find his mother directing a cheeky beam up at him from tricep-height.

"What?" he whispered.

"His voice," she hissed not-so-quietly, "How do you contain yourself? It's like being hit with a chocolate cake and rolled down a hill!"

Denny flamed scarlet. "SHHHH!"

"And the size of him! It's like cake, transmitted through a Dolby surround-sound system!"

"Mum," he growled, wondering if it was possible to woge out of sheer embarrassment as Jan turned round while on the phone, "he has really, _really_ good hearing―"

"Don't be silly darling, I'm whispering."

"Call that whisper? God, if that's your definition of whispering, no wonder you always get into such trouble at funerals..."

Jan bounded into the kitchen pinkly, jacket in hand. "I just need to dash out for a bit. It's struck me that we have no... ah...spare eggplants. We need some urgently."

"Yep, urgently," Denny agreed. "Can't have ratatouille without them. BYE!"

"Spare eggplants?" Helena tutted, as Jan sprinted for his car. "Hardly emergency items, are they? Nice to have, but hardly something you'd find stowed in an ambulance, say."

With Jan gone, Denny finally unwound. "What the hell was that?"

His mum looked wounded. "What?"

"Confiding in me about my housemate's gorgeousness at 100 decibels, while he's sitting about ten feet away! For crying out loud…"

She looked startled, then realisation dawned. "So he really is your… housemate?"

"Yes!"

"Goodness." She blinked. "I thought you'd come over all euphemistic in your old age. James, how are you coping with this situation?"

Denny frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He is absolutely precisely 'your type' and even bigger than you, to boot. You must be going twitchy with restraint!"

That was more than enough. How he may or may not feel about Jan was beside the point. He dried his hands off and clapped them lightly on her shoulders, hoping that the seriousness in his voice and grip got through. "Mum... couple of things. This is really important, right? Firstly, it's Denny, Not James. That's not just me being rebellious anymore, it's about keeping a new identity and hiding my Siegbarste side, which is a bit critical in a State that turns out to be Verrat Central."

She paled. "Oh, Lord. Well at least my blurts have all been behind closed doors."

"And second…" he felt really mean about this part, because he couldn't have had a more supportive parent in this respect, "I'm really _grateful_ you've always supported my... total failure to give you any grandchildren, so to speak, but you can't go shoving me at blokes you happen to approve of. It's complicated. Jan and Theo had a really rough year and they've only just started settling down. I'm not his priority. His kids are."

"Sorry," she said quietly. "I was getting ahead of myself a little."

He chuckled. "A little?"

"It's just... I can't get over how happy you are. I can hear it in your voice, your stride… and there was a time, when you'd cut yourself off, that I thought I'd never get _you_ back again…"

"'Ey, no... no bawling. C'mon." Denny gave her a hug before the sniffles could get out of hand. Mum was weird. When properly upset, she was really together, composed and contained. When happy, she turned into a water fountain. But then all of a sudden she snatched herself together again, and he realised that no, actually, she was really upset. "What's up, mum?"

"I've divorced your father."

He tried to digest this piece of entirely unsurprising information for a few moments without getting upset, but got upset anyway. He'd always had a weird sort of pride in the fact that his parents couldn't be much more different but had always held it together against the odds. Not anymore, it seemed. He knew his dad loved his mum. He said so on every postcard sent to the box number where Denny collected his mail. The postcards were concise, along the lines of: "Denny, hope you're ok. Food here crap, showers good, cellmate alright apart from nicking my soap. Went boxing today. Was fun. Love to your mum." It was a very pure, uncomplicated, verbally inexpressible sort of love, mainly conveyed by rib-crunching hugs and a slightly bewildered, desperate expression on those occasions where he'd hurt her feelings and didn't quite know what to do about it when she wouldn't let him hug it better. Denny loved his parents ― together ― but totally understood why it wouldn't be enough for his mum anymore. He'd better call his Dad. Make sure he wasn't too depressed.

In the end, all he could manage by way of response was "Oh."

"We still love each other. But what it really comes down to is that I'm not getting any younger and I need someone who's actually there, a companion, not a prison pen-pal. We're remaining friends, as far as that's possible."

Denny swallowed. Repeated "Oh."

She gave him a light slap around the arm. "For heaven's sake, darling. Being a man of few words was Darren's job. I don't need monosyllables from you as well!"

"Sorry. Just a bit shocked. Well, not really shocked, but you know what I mean. Is it all official? Have the papers come through?"

"Just about," she said stiffly, disentangling herself and wiping her face with his sleeve. "The braille version finally got couriered over to the house in November."

"November?"

"It's been in the wings for a while Ja―darling. I didn't want to tell you during your last call. You'd just started to sound a bit perkier, telling me about your security guard job and generally feeling better about re-joining the human race. It struck me that the only reason I was staying in England was to talk to Darren once a week over a plastic table at HMP Latchmere House, so I sold up, moved to Washington and was going to stay there until you called again to say where you'd settled. Then I got that email from this Sean character."

"He knows," Denny muttered, "About what happened. And probably worked out that I haven't seen you for a couple of years. This 'Sean character' was trying to do me a favour." He heard wailing from upstairs and grinned. "One more member of the family for you to meet. I'll bring her down and you can have a cuddle while I make her bottle up."

As his mum made her way back to the couch, Denny trotted up the stairs and wandered into Carianne's room. Not there. He frowned. Had Jan moved her cot for some reason? He backed out into the corridor to the spare room just past Theo's and the sight on the stairs made his heart freeze. Theo was carrying her down diligently, holding her properly but struggling with the weight, and trying to pick his little legs up over the debris of toys he'd chucked from the ground floor up onto the stairs while 'tidying up'. He saw Theo's balance go in the same split second as he heard the little boy's dawning wail of panic and threw himself at the stairs and the kids, grabbing them in a wrap hold even as Theo pitched forward with Carrie in his arms.

**X x X**

Nick looked up as both Wu and Jan advanced on Livvy's room, from different directions. They both joined him by her bed, where she was still dozing heavily. The only other visitor she'd had, apart from him, was a member of the surgical team, who'd very kindly left her a card with a note to reassure her that they had, as a team, survived her 'undies'.

Wu took his slot on the hand-holding rota and turfed Nick out of his seat. "Is she gonna be ok?"

Nick stretched and yawned. "Yeah, eventually. She's spiked a bit of a stress-fever, but not really surprising under the circumstances. Jan, did you manage to get hold of her parents?"

Jan looked irritated. "I left a message with her mother's secretary. I explained she'd been shot. She said that Dr Andersen would call back when her seminar had finished. I _repeated_ that she'd been shot… it wasn't a rewarding conversation, Nick. Her father was a great deal warmer, but can't make down here until boxing day. It's a long time for her to be alone."

"She won't be," Nick said. "She's staying with me until she's ready to go back to work, or she's got a place to move into. Whichever happens first." He waved Wu goodbye and followed Jan out into the corridor. "Did you come to see Renard, or her?"

"Livvy, but she's asleep. Actually, I'm just getting out of the house for a little while."

"Why?"

"Denny's mother showed up. I'm just giving them a little space to catch up."

Nick tried to imagine a female Miller-Senior. "What's she like?"

"In many respects, Denny is definitely his mother's son. He's got her eyes, her brain, her rather alarming noisy directness, and tendency to dive into difficult subjects head-first." Jan broke off and chuckled. "_His_ accent and physique hail from elsewhere."

Nick smiled as they wandered down the corridor. "They sound different? What does she sound like?"

"Oh, she's posh. Royal Berkshire posh. Think Dames Maggie Smith or Judi Dench. Whereas Den's accent is more um…"

"Tim Roth?"

Jan chuckled. "Indeed. A bit rougher around the edges. She laid into him about it, actually. Told him he could do a perfectly decent Colin Firth if he put his mind to it, and when he choked on his tea, she asked him to compromise on a bit of Clive Owen."

Nick burst out laughing. "God, only his mother would dare!"

His laughter cut off as Remus suddenly darted out of Renard's room, phone in hand, then caught sight of Jan and bustled down the corridor, speaking urgently. "Jan, bel thuis. Nu."

"Wat?"

Remus rumbled incomprehensibly at Jan in Dutch, Jan rumbled back, looking alarmed, then pulled out his own phone.

"Hoe weet hij dit?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Hij is een _Haxendier_, Jan! Hij weet… dingen. Bel thuis!"

Just as Jan was about to dial, his phone rang. He snapped down on the green, his face stiff with anxiety. "Mrs Grey? He… _what_? Are they alright? Has he seriously hurt— apologies. I'll let you talk..."

Remus moved alongside Nick and they both watched Jan pace agitatedly as he listened, Nick wondering whether the 'he' in question was Theo or Denny. He'd only caught two words in the Dutch conversation from which to gain any sense: bel – call? And Haxendier, which was too close to Hexenbiest to be coincidental. Had Renard 'sensed' something wrong? Sent Remus out to get him to call home?

"Ok, understood. I'll be home in ten. Thank you."

Nick caught Jan's white-faced gaze. "What's up?"

"I need to go. Theo decided to be helpful by taking Carianne down the stairs for her feed and tripped. Denny grabbed them before they could get hurt, but pretty much human-sledged his way down the stairs in the process."

Nick winced. No carpet on Jan's stairs. "Is he on the way here?"

"She says the fall itself didn't do any damage – to any of them, thanks to Den ― but the stress of what _nearly_ happened to the kids set off a panic woge. He's fluxing in and out of Siegbarste. Not a sight you could inflict on an ordinary paramedic."

Remus pulled a face. "Panic woge? Oh...that's nasty. I hope you have good painkillers handy."

Nick was sure someone would explain the difference between a panic woge and stress woge at some point, but now wasn't the time. "Need some help?"

Jan bolted him a grateful half-smile as he took off towards the exit at a half-run. "Please, yes. And if you could, call Monroe, ask if they have anything for extreme woge-migraine at their store?"

Nick followed him down to the car and barely had time to turf a bunch of eggplants out of the passenger seat and belt up before Jan sent the car thundering through the exit chicanes. He didn't get Monroe, but left a message with both him and Rosalee, explaining the situation. Then something occurred to him. "You called his mom 'Mrs Grey'. Did Denny take his father's name?"

Jan's face gave away little as he jolted the Romeo up onto the freeway and Nick knew his body language well enough to see him 'choosing his words.'

"I don't know, Nick. She also called him 'James'. He's told me upfront that he used to be someone else, so it didn't come as much as a shock as it could've done, but it was a rather stark reminder that I know very, very little about him."

Nick thought of Denny's morning question, which now seemed a hundred years ago, about whether he could move in with him if a particular conversation with Jan didn't go well. The guys were tight: Nick didn't want to see them fall out. "Are you now wondering who you've let in your home?"

"No! God no, nothing like that. It's just… Denny's a strange combination of being disarmingly honest yet completely cagey. I've tried to respect his silence on certain matters, like who nearly beat him to death, but he's given little away. I get the impression that he worries about his past catching up with him, and I don't want my little ones getting caught up in that."

"I've seen Denny's scars, Jan. I know he was involved in something heavy. But I don't think he's hiding anything really sinister. At least the 'Grimmstincts' say that he's not hiding anything sinister that _he's_ done."

Jan smiled. "Thanks, Nick. But it's not what I meant. Even if he has been hiding something, he's…Denny. I trust him. My bigger concern is that Theo and Carianne love him. I don't want _them_ to see _him_ get hurt."

: : : : :

Jan was grateful that Nick had offered help and glad he'd accepted, because with the best will in the world, he couldn't be in two places at once. As soon as he'd got in through the door, he saw Theo sitting on Helene's lap, sniffling and red-faced and looking as if his world had come to an end, while seeing Denny sprawled inert on the couch, his forearm over his face, breathing way too fast. Nick moved briskly to Denny's side, while Jan scooped up Theo and cuddled his way through a stream of woeful tears.

"We've had the 'that wasn't wise' talk," Helene said quietly. "Just so you know."

"Thank you." Jan snugged Theo into a slightly calmer state and sat him down on the edge of the kitchen table, brushing off a fresh sprinkling of tears with his thumb, and holding his little hands and forearms in his fingers. "Theo, you have _not_ broken Denny's brain."

"I keep... telling him that!" Denny called from the front room, his voice sounding very, _very_ broken. It barely had a third of its usual strident volume. Jan cast an urgent look over at Nick, who miraculously caught his meaning: _'don't give him the chance to come out with any more 'reassuring' stuff.' _ Nick kept him busy (and silent) by helping him to sit and sip water.

"Denny has a particular problem," Jan explained to Theo in a low voice. "Very big surprises make his heart beat very fast, and his body doesn't like that. It makes him feel dizzy."

Theo blinked in recognition. "Dizzy like when you tripped over my Lego Deathstar?"

And damn near brained himself on the coffee table. "Yes, much like that."

"Your eyes crossed," Theo recalled. "But you were better quickly. Denny's still poorly."

"There are things that would make me poorly that wouldn't bother Denny at all. And there are things that affect Denny that we don't have a problem with – like… eating cheese. We're all different. He'll be fine. See? There's a thumbs-up over there."

"Hmmm."

Jan would've found Theo's unconvinced expression a lot more comical if Den's hand hadn't been shaking quite so badly. Even with Nick over there, he felt himself torn in two and was monumentally relieved to be rescued by Helene, who asked Theo to show her this Lego Deathstar which was clearly so terribly dangerous. Theo led her off quite cheerfully, demanding in his infant way how he was going to 'show' it to her, given that she couldn't actually see it. As soon as they were round the corner in the utility room, Jan shot over to the couch.

"God Den, you alright?"

Denny was colourless. And wet. "Operation 'drink' didn't go smoothly," he muttered. "Knocked his hand at the wrong moment. Sorry about that, Nick."

"Don't even worry about it."

"Cheers." Denny wiped his hands down his face but couldn't stop shivering. "Sorry, mate. I tried making it to the back room to get out of sight, but I couldn't even see where I was going."

"Shall I help you now?"

"Yeah. Please."

Denny managed to swing his legs off the couch and Jan got his arm round his back, lifting gently and pulling an arm across his shoulders. They made it almost to the door of the back room when he realised he was suddenly taking a lot of Denny's weight, then his knees snapped out from underneath, he dropped backwards, and Jan had to scramble down to the floor with him, his arms under Denny's head and shoulders to keep him from thumping himself any further.

"Den?" Jan gave his shoulder a light squeeze, but he was completely out.

Nick raced back from the kitchen to help and between them, they lifted Denny the rest of the way into the room and rested him on his side on the bed, where he settled with a quiet groan. Nick discreetly retreated to the kitchen while Jan stuck around for a few minutes, cleaning Denny's rain of sweat off with a soft cloth while waiting for him to come round. It took a good five minutes, and even then, he couldn't prise his eyes open.

"J-Jan?"

Jan linked thumbs with the confused, searching hand, and gripped it lightly. "I'm here."

"I need... to explain...'James'."

"I'd like to hear that," he admitted quietly. "But not 'til you're in better shape. Just get some rest for a while, alright? I'm not going anywhere. Neither is your mother, unless she has some wild independent desire to return to her hotel."

This won a flickering, white-faced smile. "Thanks. And... if you're alright with it... I'd like Nick to stick around. It's not a story I want to repeat."

"He's staying, then." Jan pulled the quilt over and snapped the light off. "Let's get you better. Then we can worry about what came before." He strode out into the front room, feeling nowhere near as calm as he hoped he'd sounded. He'd seen Denny swear, hop up and down and kick things when wogeing involuntarily. He'd never seen him knocked sideways like this.

**X x X**

There was something about the rhythm of the knock on Hilde's door that just sounded forbidding. Warwick put his poem and pen down and tucked his feet up onto the couch, under the quilt. She nodded at him to stay where he was and checked the spy-hole before opening the door, looking grave.

It's Dad, Warwick thought instantly. Dead or arrested.

Hilde opened the door to a solid, pretty tall man in his mid-to-late fifties with short grey hair, moustache, and an accent that he couldn't quite place. He murmured at Hilde. She put her hand to her face and murmured back. In German. She turned to give him what she probably hoped was a kind smile. "We will talk to you in a moment."

Warwick decided that he'd spent enough of his life as the third party in it. "Talk to me now, please. Has my father been arrested, or is he dead?"

"He is dead," the guy said gently, approaching with his hands in his pockets. "I am very, very sorry. I was the one to fire the shot. I felt that I owed you an explanation."

Warwick nodded and folded his arms across himself as he always did when he felt that first lurking sensation of cold ahead of a panic-woge. It didn't come. It made no sense. Father – dead. Not upset enough to panic. What the hell was wrong with him? He felt weirdly, eerily calm. Worse, he felt… relief. What the _hell_ was wrong with him? Or was he about to panic for failing to panic?

"May I call you Warwick?" the guy asked.

He appreciated the question. "Yeah. And… who are you?"

"Remus van Maarten, Interpol. I work closely with Captain Renard of Portland Police Department. Your father was attacking the Captain and was about to do the carotid slice."

Warwick looked up. Ok – the guy was familiar with the Geier fight movements. Wesen, then. He still felt numb. "Why were they fighting? He must have a tonne of cops to fight for him."

"He drew your father away from Nick. And then did his best to contain him without any shots being fired. I'm very sorry, but I was left in a position where I had no choice but to defend him."

"And this had nothing to do with the fact that he was probably doing stuff that was completely evil?"

"He was," Remus agreed evenly.

"So why are you sorry you shot him?"

"I'm sorry," Remus said carefully, "for having to give you distressing news. And for having to believe that I did the right thing."

"Thank you," Warwick mumbled.

"For what?"

"Not bullshitting me." Warwick rewound a little of the conversation in his head as Hilde approached him from the kitchen with a little tumbler of amber liquid. "Is Nick ok?"

"He is fine. He had the rather unpleasant experience of fighting off several attempts to take a blood sample from him, but he is very robust, is Burkhardt. We recovered the blood sample."

Warwick shrugged. "God knows what he thought anyone could do with it."

"I did try to explain that to them," Remus mused. "But they were determined."

"What about my mom?" Again, the dead emotionless calm.

"She is safely in protective custody. As for her legal status, I have no idea, I'm afraid. I came here to see Renard on separate business. Nick will try to call you later, and you can ask him about your family situation then."

Warwick had a family, he decided: they may all be borrowed, but they'd also borrowed him, and he had no cravening desire to return to his mother. In fact, he was frightened at the prospect of returning to his mother. Not because he feared her pressing him into any further work, but simply because life would be full of long, cold silences again and the very idea of that pressed down on him like a lead weight. Now he felt the woge coming…

"Here," Hilde said, pressing the glass into his hand. "It is disgusting, so drink it quick."

Warwick necked it – she was right, single-malt whiskey, cheap and nasty ― and very quickly felt that oppressive cold blasted away to be replaced by weird spaciness and a numb face. "Th-that was whiskey."

"Hilde! He's not yet seventeen!"

"Best time to have whiskey," she confirmed. "Supposedly when you are not used to alcohol and it still has the power to make your eyes water and your ears pop. Especially before a shock."

"I've had the shock," Warwick protested vaguely.

"Not yet. Wait till you have the next one."

Remus looked appalled. "You're not giving him another one!"

"Watch me and weep," she barked, holding out a second glass. "Down it goes!"

Down it did. Warwick felt a fireball blow in his head and sunk into the couch, feeling warm and increasingly emotional, but not at all like having a panic attack. He felt like hugging the cushion and crying his eyes out, but not like panicking. When had he last cried? Properly? He couldn't remember.

"This is not a woge-prevention technique that I would commend as a physician," she said, but under the circumstances…."

Remus handed her his card, his eyebrows still raised. "I see he's in loving hands. Strange woman. Still, he will have questions later. Of course I will answer them. I will leave you now to nurse him through his hangover."

She saw Remus out and then sat next to him on the couch, peeling him out of the corner into a hug. Warwick sort of flopped against her sideways and let tears roll. She just sat silently next to him for a long time, letting him get on with it.

"C'n I stay?"

"I think you should give me a probation period," Hilde remarked. "You are sad. And new to me. And have known me less than a whole day. I might drive you mad."

Warwick gave a watery smile. "I'd like to find out whether you'll drive me…hic… mad or not."

"I will speak to Sean. See what can be done. I am not exactly on the official foster parents' register, you know."

He found himself almost having to sell himself to her. "I can help you with your work."

"Only in tiny bursts. First, you must grieve for people that you didn't like in the first place ― this is very hard work, I know ― and you must have life. And teach me things."

"Teach you what?" Warwick lifted his head up. Not very far. There were two Hildes, and his neck felt a bit floppy. "What could I teach you?"

"Baking."

"I've no idea how to do baking!"

"Then we will make horrible cakes together, disguise the more acceptable ones with icing, and inflict them upon our friends."

Our friends.

Warwick liked the sound of this.


	15. getting to grips with things

**Ok guys! Reaching the end now! And in traditional style, me chapters were getting far too long, so I've chopped this back. It may mean, of course, that there are two chapters left rather than the finale, but we will see if I can be concise or not. Probably not, on balance. ;) but we're getting closer to tying up all the loose ends now, one way or the other.**

**Thanks for all the really lovely and helpful reviews… I hope you enjoy. This one was a little difficult to write as the backstory's pretty heavy, but I hope I balanced it ok. Fingers crossed!**

**And for those of you enjoying the return of Grimm tomorrow night… I am deeply, deeply jealous, lol. I'm still stuck on La Llorona! Gnnn! **

**X x X**

Monroe pulled a sympathetic face next to Nick as Rosalee found a bit of the mattress edge not taken up with Denny, lifted his arm back up and tilted him back gently. Denny groaned quietly as he was moved, his face still screwed up with pain, still breathing way too hard. Carianne was tense in Nick's arms, not crying but pulling at his shirt and clothes and generally being about as cuddly as a little spring. They both watched as Rosalee apologetically got her little pot of gunge out and, after smoothing it over Denny's face and neck, rubbed it through his hair.

"...I know... 'bleaugh'," they heard, "You're gonna need a shower when you're up, honey."

"I gotta say," Monroe mumbled, as they retreated into the kitchen, leaving her to it, "he looks a hell of a lot better than I was expecting."

"_Better_ than you were expecting?" Nick was bewildered. "He can barely move! How bad do these things get?"

Monroe stared at him blankly for a moment before appearing to realise something. "Ah - I guess I've never had cause to explain. Ok look, panic woges or panoges as we dub them, are usually IV-morphine territory, as wesen sickness events go, along with two-three day stay in the wellness centre. They're actually nothing to do with panic, right? I mean, they start off from the same point as a stress woge, but while a stroge is what _you_ see when people's emotions get on top of them, it's just the result of a tiny amount of adrenaline going through the system. Got that?"

Nick nodded, fishing Carianne's fist out of his shirt. Her fingers were chilly. "Uh, I think so… so there are woges, stroges and panoges?"

"No, a woge _is_ a stroge. We only call woges stroges in the context of talking about panoges to distinguish between panoges and woges." Monroe blinked. "Try having this discussion after a few beers."

Nick smiled. "Do stroges really hurt?"

"Nah... well yeah, kinda. The first few are murder 'cause your body's not ready for them. But when you're an adult, it's like the first head-throb of a really bad liquor hangover. But that's about as bad as it gets. But Panoges… man…"

"You ever seen one before?"

"Once – my great uncle. But that was really his own fault. He'd been signing widow's pensions checks, declaring himself dead, for about five years. But he'd been signing in his 'wife's' name, obviously. He kept all his records and one day realised that he'd signed the last one in his own name in an absent-minded moment. He went STRAIGHT into a Panoge when the revenue guys knocked on his door. But anyway, they're a completely different animal." Monroe helped himself to the tea supplies, getting four cups out.

"Five, please," Jan said quietly, as he joined them from upstairs. "I'm sure Helene will have one."

Monroe frowned. "Helene?"

"Denny's mother. She's earning her weight in gold keeping Theo occupied. Long story about how she got here. Anyway, you were explaining to Nick."

Nick nearly missed the beginning of Monroe's continuance for staring at Jan, who wasn't far off Denny's colour right now and darting frequent, furtive looks in the direction of the back room, clearly wanting to go in but respecting Rosalee's request that they not crowd him.

"...so with a panoge you get a whole bunch of cortisol flooding the body as well as adrenaline, and the stress hormone makes you stroge, of course, hard - which hurts like _hell_, which releases more cortisol, which... leads to a chain reaction of shifting back and forth… which is just migraine misery on earth. It hurts bad enough if you're full wesen. If you're half-human..." Monroe shuddered. "Let's just say it's a _really_ good job that Denny's other half is Siegbarste. The high pain threshold is what's keeping him stable right now."

Nick took his tea before Monroe could tip half a cow of milk into it, as he usually did. "Stable how?"

Monroe and Jan exchanged a worried look and Nick realised that he'd inadvertently dropped into taboo territory in some way.

"You don't need to tell me," he added hurriedly.

Jan shook his head wearily. "Human-wesen mixes usually have some kind of basic physical vulnerability. Den's is cardiac. Panoges can lead to serious complications."

Monroe put a hand on his shoulder. "He'll be fine, man. You probably won't get any sense out of him until the morning, but he actually calmed himself out of it, which takes an insane amount of personal control. If he was able to do _that_, then..."

"Thanks, Monroe. That helps." Jan smiled but retreated into the front room to flop onto the armchair with his tea. His phone rang, the Jaws theme tune belting through the air, which Nick recognised as the area commandant's ring tone. He growled uncharacteristically at the phone. "Oh for God's sake man, will you…fuck off?" He got up, taking the call outside, passing Rosalee as she came out of the back room, cleaning her hands off.

She nodded at Jan's retreating back and whispered. "He alright? He's… tense!"

Nick shrugged. "He'll be better when Denny's better. The guy hurt himself protecting Jan's kids. He's not feeling too good about that." He gently retrieved his bangs from Carianne's fierce little fist. "And the AC's been on his case all afternoon to explain what happened, get a quote from me about the fight-break-up, yada yada."

Monroe pulled a face. "The Air Conditioning?"

Nick chuckled. "Area Commandant. But yeah, he blows hot and cold."

Jan burst back in from outside and stalked over with a slightly frightening leonine growl, holding the phone out and pretty much slapping it into his palm. "Nick, grateful if you could 'furnish' Commandant DeMarcos with press lines about your 'actions' this afternoon."

"I was in a grim mood," Nick said into the phone, totally deadpan, ignoring Monroe and Jan's horrified expressions, then found the phone snatched immediately from his grip by Jan who resumed the conversation with an expression of undiluted wrath in his direction.

"Please disregard that last remark, Sir, he's very tired. No… No I don't think it's a helpful statement. Yes, it makes him sound more 'human' but I do think it conveys the wrong impression and could have a rather awkward back-lash effect for the department… Oh, do you? Well I'll see you tomorrow then. Maybe the Captain could explain the complications that can arise from that. Fine! Goodnight, Sir."

Monroe goggled, Jan grabbed his hair, speechless: Rosalee was the only one close to smiling. "Grim mood? Honey – was that wise?"

Monroe threw his hands up in exasperation. "Why not just send up a Grimm signal into the sky? A big silhouette of a little dude snapping a scythe in half?"

Rosie grinned. "Won't humans find that a slightly surreal addition to the Portland skyline?"

Nick chuckled, thinking of Eric's batphone comment. He'd been in a rebellious mood, he knew, but he was starting to see the benefits of sending out that particular signal. Besides, the fight-stopping pretty much ensured that twenty or thirty wesen students had all recognised him as a Grimm at the same time. The chances of keeping his identity quiet any longer were pretty slim anyway.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?" Jan suddenly roared, and even Carianne stopped her fight with Nick's top button to goggle at her daddy, wide-eyed. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"No. I'm trying to put an end to the whole 'shriek, he's a Grimm' reaction. As Livvy pointed out, it's getting a little old."

"That's a small price to pay to stay safe."

"That's easy for you to say!"

Jan was warming to his theme, pacing. "Unbalanced wesen with psychopathic Grimm grudges, the verrat… the reapers, Nick?"

Nick felt so tired of dividing his life up into chunks and trying to balance them all. "I get the unbalanced wesen anyway. The anti-Grimm and the Grimm-obsessed. Ryan, anyone? And as for the reapers… if they don't know where I am by now, they don't deserve to call themselves reapers."

"You're going to need an army behind you," Jan muttered. "Jesus."

"I was hoping," Nick went on, "that if people knew that there was a Grimm cop, they'd come to us with their issues before they turned into homicide and grand larceny, and so on. Those kids today – it ended up as a mob-fight but to begin with, it had a basic cause. Who could they have told about their inter-species persecution?"

"Their parents?" Jan asked.

"As we've seen with Warwick's folks, they don't all view the responsibility as seriously as you."

Rosalee put a light hand on Jan's arm. "You know, he really does have a point, there." She looked to Nick. "How is Warwick, by the way?"

"I don't know, yet." Nick checked his watch – it was soon after seven. He'd call soon. Find out.

Jan straightened up and stretched. "The AC did mention his general approval of my Special Constabulary recommendation. Maybe that's something to start looking into properly. With wesen volunteers. We can spread the load of dealing with the social issues as well as the criminal ones."

Monroe pulled a face. "Special Constabulary? What's that? Sounds very, very polite and formal. And Canadian, for some reason."

"Part-time cops. Volunteers – they're fully-attested beat cops that look the same, have the same arrest rights, but who only do 16 hours a month and join the squad on larger public incidents, like this morning's."

"Vigilantes?"

"No," Jan said wearily. "I'm going to have fun selling this idea to the Policing Commission, aren't I? _Not_ vigilantes but unpaid, part-time cops. And yes, before you ask, people _will_ do that. It's been a part of life in England, Australia and parts of Canada for years."

Monroe snickered. "While Denny's still unconscious, I think it's fair to say that there's always been a link between English colonialism and refusing to pay for things."

Jan finally cracked a smile. "Nick – do you have any idea how many more waifs and strays you'll pick up from your little Grimm signal?"

"Warwick's going to be a good addition to the Federation. Bring them on. I'd rather have them hassle me a little and help me a lot."

"Your life is going to be full of Damsons in distress. You know that, right?"

Nick, Rosalee and Monroe got the giggles. To stem Jan's re-rising irritation, Nick explained. "Dam_sels_, Jan."

"What are damsons then?"

"Plums."

"Hmph. But just so you know, Nick, if you're expecting us to help you to help them all, you don't get to choose how that's done." Jan reached over to help pull Carianne's head out of his collar, where she'd gone investigating. "Just for example, I'll be talking to Wu about finding Tom a job at the precinct. He knows the cleaner contracting guys."

"I think I preferred your tied-up-naked-in-Sears-under-Mistletoe threat! Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because he's already claimed you, he's half an army in himself ― if pointed in the right direction ― and most importantly… to _really_ irritate you."

"Great. I'm glad that's such a priority for you."

"At present, yes! I'm already fielding calls left, right and centre about what happened this morning with the riot, and with Renard out of the office, the press intrusion in the squadroom's gone berserk. And now… with your little Grimm statement…" Jan seemed to run out of words. "I've already got more than enough on my plate!" Jan jerked his head meaningfully in the direction of the back room.

Ok, that last one was fair. "Sorry, Jan."

"Still hiring him," Jan muttered. "And don't moan at me when Tom lifts you up to clean under your seat."

"Who's Tom?" Monroe chuckled, while Rosalee packed up.

"He's a just-woged Siegbarste. He pulled me out of the lab while the building was on fire, which technically makes me 'his', apparently."

"Another nice Siegbarste?" Rosalee said wonderingly. "I think we may be a little wrong about the entire species."

"Just-woged?" Helene asked as she came down the stairs with Theo, "oh dear. They're high maintenance at that age. He'll need an Alpha Sieg to begin with to help him set things straight and build a horde. I'm sure Denny will take that on."

"No, No, and thrice No."

Nick, Jan, Monroe and Rosalee turned as a silent quartet towards the hoarse voice at the doorway.

He was white, shaky but _up, _which was a near-miracle, if the Monrosalee jaw-drop was anything to go by. Jan eased him over to the couch, perching him first on the arm, then lowering him into the seat before Theo could take him out with a high-speed leg hug. Nick noticed the care in the movement and Denny's slight pinkening as Jan's hand stayed on his shoulder. "Cheers mate."

Helene was immune to this touching moment. "Oh come on! The poor love'll be vulnerable at the moment! He needs an alpha to make up a horde!"

"Two Siegbarstes do _not _make a horde!"

"Fine. Hordette, then. Hordling. Whatever. Have a little compassion, darling. Siegs aren't particularly bright in the early-woge years. Even _you _had your moments." Helene approached her son and rubbed his shoulders. "Don't worry, I shan't go into them. Besides, you always wanted a little brother!"

Nick grinned at the completely baffled expression Denny shared with Jan.

"No I bloody didn't! That's a _totally_ fictional memory, Mum!"

"All you have to do," she persisted, "is shadow him the first couple of days into the job and show him the hierarchy around the place, his routine, and then he'll be fine."

Rosalee finished packing up the stuff while Monroe chuckled. "Just draw him a Siegbarste organogram of the precinct, dude. Everything under Renard is MINE! Nick, Hank, and Livvy are HIS!" he pointed at Jan, "and so on..."

Denny laughed. "Oh, shut up Eddie." He held out his hand, though. "Thanks for charging round with the stuff, though. Really appreciate it. It's miracle gunge – where the hell's it from?"

"It's experimental, honey. I got the make-up instructions from one of the books Hilde left with us before she swept back out of the country. We'll be making more of it, if your recovery's anything to go by," Rosalee took Denny's pulse discreetly by laying a hand on his wrist. "Take it easy, though. You're not quite there yet, alright?"

Denny nodded meekly and they were gone a moment later, Theo running out after them to help Rosalee into the car, reminding them about the nativity and their superhero costumes, Monroe demanding to know where he'd bought his non-heroic yet extra-cool threads. He was back in a moment and slammed the door after him.

"Monroe thinks I'm all grown up."

"You are," Nick agreed. Not many little guys who'd have kept their grit together in that situation.

"Can I finish your tea?"

"Sure- oh sorry buddy. This one's caffeinated. Hang on…" Nick reached for Monroe's half-drunk cup. "Have this one."

Denny prised himself up from the armchair slowly and reached for a quick cuddle with Carianne, who turned into a happy, gummy, arm-waving little ball against his shoulder as soon as he took her. "Hmm. I can see _you're_ traumatised by this whole stair malarkey. Probably the most exciting thing that's happened to you so far, isn't it? Right, I'm going to have a shower. After that, story, Theo?"

Theo brandished Dr Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham at him.

"Again? Really?"

"We could do the sleep-time book?"

"Ah, no. That's about 30 pages of size-twelve font. Takes forever. Green eggs it is. See you in a few."

Denny handed Carianne back to Jan and as he trudged upstairs, Nick took the opportunity to call Warwick. Hilde answered his cell and proudly confirmed that Warwick was drunk. As a skunk. But that Nick should call round in the morning. Nick repeated the other side of the conversation to Helene and Jan, who didn't seem to find this surprising at all.

"Old-school anti-panoge cures," Helene explained. "They only work on the very young, though. The sudden alcohol rush prevents cortisol building up."

"Ah." Nick winced, not liking the idea of someone as vulnerable as Warwick going into that state. Stress woges were bad enough for him. Jan got Theo washed and brushed and after a quick kiss-round, the little boy went to join Denny. His voice carried clearly down the stairs and they sat grinning as he indignantly narrated the tale of some poor cat-like guy fleeing the relentless attempts of a little pest, Sam, trying to get him to try green eggs and ham. Nick could tell from Theo's giggles, also carrying downstairs clearly, that he never got bored of it. From Jan's open grin, neither did he, as Denny sounded increasingly exasperated.

"…I do not like them in a box. I do not like them with a fox! I do not LIKE THEM, Sam-I-am, I do not like green eggs and ham! I will not eat them on a train. I will _not _eat them in the rain!..."

By the time Denny had been pursued in the dark, here and there and everywhere and had finally caved in and tried the damn things, all three of them were laughing openly and gave him a round of applause as he trotted down the stairs, thumbing upwards. "Tuck-in time, mate."

He settled down on the couch, groaning quietly as Jan nipped upstairs with Carianne, to put her down, too. Denny was still way off colour. Nick went to grab him the quilt from the back room and Denny disappeared under it gratefully.

"You ok?" he asked eventually.

"Feel a bit shit, to be honest―"

"Rather shit," Helene chimed in. "Not 'a bit'.

Nick chuckled as Denny rolled his eyes. "Whatever! I'm _rarther_ shaken by the chat I had with Theo before the book, though. He asked me what to do next time that happens, because I'm too big for him to put to bed."

"Bless him," Helene said quietly.

"I didn't really have an answer for that, apart from telling him that he did a great job this time. He helped you call Jan, didn't he, mum?"

"He's a master of speed-dial, is Theo," she agreed, but looked a little pinched, as if not particularly wanting to be reminded of the moment of having to deal with three casualties at the same time, while not being able to see any of them. "He knows the rules. If he can't get his Daddy, then it's you, Nick, then Monroe and Rosalee, then Hank, then the Captain… all in order."

Renard knew though, Nick recalled. He'd known something was wrong before the call came in. The spookiness of that can't have missed Jan, either. And hadn't, clearly. Jan finished a quiet call as he came down the stairs, switching all the lights off up there. "Well… it's an 'instinct' that I welcome, Sir, whatever you want to call it. They're fine, he's tired but up and with it. Yes, very surprising, under the circumstances… I'm due to see you tomorrow, with DeMarcos… Yes, what a joy that will be." Renard said something at the other end of the line that made Jan grin. "Till tomorrow, then. And, thank you."

"That sounded a bit more cordial than your last chat," Denny mumbled.

"If there's one thing that Renard and I have always silently agreed on, it's that DeMarcos has small-man syndrome, which isn't particularly relaxing for either of us to deal with."

Nick giggled. The AC was an asshole who reached somewhere just north of Renard's elbow.

"Anyway, I just called to thank him - he knew something was wrong, earlier. He sent Remus out to get hold of me and I was literally about to call home when Helene got through."

Denny eyes widened slightly. "Oh. He had 'the instinct'. Curious."

Nick and Jan exchanged bewildered gazes, then locked them on Denny, who disappeared further under the quilt in a clear signal that he had no intention of elucidating on this curiosity. "Nice and warm in here," he muttered, sealing the conversation shut, with glue. Nick rolled his eyes. Another conversation for another day, again, then. He'd ask Renard about it, tomorrow.

: : : : :

Jan had broken the wine out, but Denny steered clear, sticking to a massive mug of tea to warm him through while the others sipped. He had to get going – say _something_. The elephant in the room was getting so big that soon, none of them would be able to breathe for the grey wrinkly knees poking them in the ribs.

"Story time did go better tonight," he said suddenly, surprising himself with his starting point as much as the others. "But there's still stuff I can't do with Theo. Like giving him a bath. Helping him with the toilet when he gets jammed in his undies. Giving him a quick hug is about as much as I can do but bloody hell, he's a great little fella, and thank god he responds well to being coaxed and encouraged to do things himself, because I don't want him thinking that I'm not affectionate."

The guys looked a little confused, but gave him space to carry on his own thread, which he was grateful for.

"Remember that first night I had Theo, when you were in hospital after siege night? He decided halfway through his shower that he was going to get out and run around Nick's whole house, naked as the day he was born, spreading soap everywhere. That was nightmare number one. I managed to round him up and bundle him into a towel without being grabby - just about. Nightmare number two was him waking me at two in the morning, wanting his Daddy, needing a hug and wanting to get straight into bed with me until he felt better." Denny shuddered. "I sorted it by turning one of Nick's teeshirts into a dressing gown to keep him warm and sitting with him in front of the tv for a bit until he'd calmed down, but the moment he just sort of appeared next to me, with his cold little fingers on my leg... nearly had a bloody heart attack, I can tell you. I kept expecting someone to burst through the wall yelling 'unclean! unclean!' at me."

"That would scare most guys, Den," Nick said gently. "I'm a badge-wearing cop for god's sake and I still get paranoid that I'm going to get accused of child abduction if I hunker down to comfort some lost kid in the shopping centre. It's a sign of the world we live in."

Denny appreciated the sentiments, but he couldn't afford to let the conversation steer off course now that he was getting the nuts together. He felt his mum's hand on his knee under the quilt and squeezed it. "Nick, most guys haven't been accused of child abuse."

"What?" Nick spluttered, but it was Jan's gaze he met.

"The headline news is that I was arrested and bailed for an encounter with a teenage boy, and I'll now be a suspect in the deaths of two school governors, one of whom was the boy's father. I'm a fugitive. I did kill the governors. But I swear, I never... _never_..."

"I know," Jan said quietly. He was white-faced but calm, sitting back in the armchair, picking at a bit of the thread loosened from the leather.

Denny didn't quite know why, but this simple, instant acceptance of the truth infuriated him rather than relieved him. All those nights of sleeplessness he'd never get back, the nightmares that Jan had thought were related to his beating - actually about Jan beating the shit out of him then kicking him out - and frankly, Denny thought it would be more fatherly of Jan to at least have fucking pause after what he'd just told him. And then there was the worry that Jan would change his mind, mull things over and then just start being a little more cautious around him. That was the emotional slow-death he was terrified of.

"How do you know?" he barked.

"A few things."

"Go on, then."

"Okay, then." Jan sat forward a little, Nick looking nervous in the background. "Firstly, Remus interferes. A lot. He's Theo's Godfather. He'd have had you checked out the moment I'd told him you were moving in. If he were even vaguely worried about you, he'd have flown over with the eviction crew himself, believe me. Secondly, there's Nick. We both saw his reaction to what you'd said about being accused of... of..."

"child abuse?" Denny supplied for him. "You can't even say it, and you're former SVU!"

"Who can? And incidentally, one of the reasons I left on promotion from that job when going to Interpol was because I have a high closure rate. Because I know when someone's lying to me."

"I've been lying to you for two months," Denny muttered.

"You've been evading me for two months," Jan replied. "If it makes you feel any better, I had a deadline."

"For what?"

"If you hadn't told me what you were so nervous about by then, I was going to find a way of making you tell me, or ask you to move out."

Weirdly, that made Denny feel better. It shouldn't, logically. The idea of Jan mentally dangling this conversation over them when they'd been getting on like... well, like a house on fire... the thought nearly made him laugh, bizarrely, but at least it showed that Jan had actually heard what he'd said and wasn't just glossing everything because he was... fond of him. The kids were still coming first. Good.

"Right," he said simply.

"And you have been trying to tell me for days, so..."

"This is all the wrong way round," Denny muttered, drinking his tea. "You did notice the part where I admitted to killing two people, yes?"

"Yes. I'm still waiting for you to step from the alarmist headlines and give me the context."

"If you're waiting for me to say 'I didn't mean to kill them, it was all an accident', I'm afraid it's not going to happen, mate. I panicked, yeah, but I'm supposed to be trained to apply a certain amount of force, and no more. I let that go straight out the window when I banged those bastards' heads together. So, it's not just alarmist headlines, Jan. There is a degree of violence in me that has to come out in the right way. In a safe way. And you need to know about it so you can take your own precautions."

"Protecting my children, you mean?"

"What else? I'm no threat to you. You could take me to pieces."

"Den, I'm not as strong as you think I am." Jan looked pained, and Denny felt bad about that, suddenly. It was like he was punishing Jan for taking it too well. He just felt completely pole-axed, not believing that that intrinsic, basic trust would be there for the third thing in a row… the punch-up at the nursery. Losing his job on the first day. And of coure, this…

"I'm sorry. I was expecting all sorts of reactions. Anger, worry. The need for space, suddenly. Perhaps eventual trust... after a cooling-off period..."

"Allen believed him to begin with," his mum chimed in gently. "But was nowhere to be seen when things got difficult. It's difficult to believe that people will _continue_ to believe when that happens to you."

"Was Allen your partner?" Nick asked.

Denny clenched his teeth at the memory of Terry returning to his bedside, having discreetly dropping over to his abandoned flat for supplies, reporting with great sadness and embarrassment that Allen had gone, every single possession missing, with only a green note left on the table. Terry didn't want to hand it over in the state he was in, but he'd pretty much snatched it, deciding he couldn't hurt any more, anyway. He was wrong. The note simply read 'Couldn't take the pressure. Sorry. A'. After four years together.

"I thought he was. We even had a date at the register office for a civil ceremony before everything blew up."

Nick shifted awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry for Juliette. I'm sorry for my mum," he squeezed her hand again, "who is newly single, but there you have it."

"What 'blew up?' Jan asked.

"My life, pretty much. We had a flat and a dog. I'd re-trained after medical retirement from the Army, and became plain 'Mr Grey' at Angleside Primary School, Stratford. That school's probably covered in Olympic Stadium by now, more's the pity. I had sixty kids. I got lots of apples on my desk. It was fun. Not a twitchy moment in sight. I did that for a couple of years then was offered Head of Year for humanities at a secondary school in London, St Philip's. Quite a lot more money, but the second-worst decision I've ever made."

"Were the governors wesen?" Nick asked.

Denny nodded. "The two that caused the problem were Schakals. I didn't know that then, and they didn't know about me. But they didn't like the way I ran things in my area, didn't particularly like it that I didn't hide my relationship with Allen, and certainly didn't like the fact that I didn't go running to them for approval over every last little detail of budget or change. It's partly why the Head appointed me. He was trying to build up a group of senior staff that would stand up to Hendry and West."

"Anyway, Seamus West was in my history class and my form group and had a real attitude on him. Snidy, rude, contemptuous...pretty horrid to the other kids. I wasn't standing for it and that lad spent more time outside the class and in detention than in it. One day he made this girl's life such a misery, because of the birthmark she'd clearly put on in the morning just to disgust him, that I gave him a piece of my mind afterwards and I didn't exactly hold back."

Denny caught Nick's wince. "Yeah, you may well cringe. As it happened, I only swore once and kept a desk between us at all times. I just told him exactly what I thought of that kind of bullying, and was about to patrol him to the headmaster's office when he did his first woge."

"Ah," Jan murmured. "So what did you do?"

"He went completely hysterical. I think he'd had some warning of what he was, and what he would become, but it's horribly painful and frightening. And the two-minute warning siren had gone before the kids had to get back in the classrooms. The noise made him worse and he was throwing himself around on the floor." Denny took a deep breath. Nick's face was calm and sympathetic, so he focussed on him, for a moment. "I was trying to calm him down but he was showing no signs of coming out of it and was getting more and more frightened, so I did the only thing I could under the circumstances, which was to get him out of sight. We had a stock cupboard, so I dragged him in there moments before the other students started filing into the classroom."

"Oh God," Jan mumbled, dropping his face into his palms.

"Yeah - completely shafted. We had to come at some point, and from the perspective of his classmates, all they saw was Seamus burst out of the cupboard, crying and gibbering, and me standing there like a deer in the fucking headlights. So yeah, I was asked to explain myself, did my best at explaining that he'd had a funny turn and that I was trying to give him privacy... that went down well... then his father decided to have a pop at me."

Denny gestured at the wine bottle, deciding that a little alcohol fortification might help after all. Nick poured him a glass that was almost brimming.

"I told this guy, Mr West, the absolute truth. I figured that was the best way to go, since he must know that his son had to woge at some point. West threatened me and I caught him showing his Schakal game face, but didn't shift back at him. I just thought 'yeah, you seem a _lovely_, reasonable bloke. Like I'm going to expose my Siegbarste to you...' So then, because I didn't return the woge, he got it into his head that I must be a Grimm. Bloody daft, really, a Grimm in a primary school, but I thought it would get him off my back for a bit and didn't contradict him."

Nick looked bemused. "I can understand why that seemed like a good idea at the time…Did you get laid off?"

"Suspended, yeah. While 'investigations were pending'. I could feel people following me around while I was going to and from Stratford Police Station pretty much every other day, but no-one came too close. I had a few 'get out of our area, you perv' visits – broken windows, etc. I knew I'd never go back to teaching, let alone school, but I just needed to clear my name by then. So I stayed put. It kept dragging on because Seamus himself never actually made a statement. His father put the complaint in, not him."

Denny approached the cringe-worthy moment with trepidation. "And one day he rang and asked to meet."

He felt the triplicate stare of horrified expectation and simply nodded. "Before you guys say anything, I did take some basic precautions. I told Terry what I was doing. Terry was my pursuit operations sergeant in Helmand, by the way. Hundjager. I thought that if anyone needed to come and find me, he'd be the man. Told another couple of guys too. I wasn't completely friendless – not by any means. There was a lot of noise being made in my defence."

"Why, though? After all the shit he'd put you through?" Jan's bewilderment shot him through.

"Cause he needed help! It wasn't him that was giving me the shit – it was his parents. He sounded terrified and clearly something else was going on… I'm guessing that at that point, I was the only person other than his folks who knew what he turned into."

"Or maybe it's because he thought you were a Grimm," Nick murmured.

"Maybe," Denny mused, thinking how much crap _that _decision had got him into later, "but actually I think he just wanted to explain things. And…" God he felt stupid. "I thought I could talk him into going to the Police with me and getting this whole stuff… finished."

"Oh darling."

His mum's arm slipped over his shoulders and he shrugged, trying not to get emotional about it. "Anyway, as you've probably guessed, we got followed, ambushed. I got grabbed and there was a standoff – there were seven of them. West and Hendry were armed, some other guy dragged Seamus away into a car, yelling his head off, and then I lunged forward and smacked their heads together."

"What were they armed with?"

"Bloody great guns, Nick!" What did he think? Fucking cucumbers? "I'm quite hard to damage, but it would still bloody hurt on the soft tissue, and if they had both got shots off, I couldn't defend myself after that. After Hendry and West went down, one of the others shot me in the leg. And I woged. What they did to me after… I don't know whether it was all coming from anger that I'd conned them into thinking I was a Grimm, or anger that I was actually half-Siegbarste, or anger at what they still thought I'd try to do to Seamus… or what. But they cracked me round the head with something and I woke up in a car junkyard with my hands tied."

"I can't be hearing this, darling."

"Mum, I was going to fast-forward past…" Denny tried to catch her arm as she leapt to her feet, but she went into denial as ever, sweeping faultlessly but pinch-faced over to her jacket, grabbing her cigarettes and making her way shakily outside. His eyes stung as she retreated and he was glad when Jan strode over and sat on the other side of him, his hand on the back of his neck. "Not that I was going to supply them, you can see the evidence for yourself, but she's never been one for the gory details."

"Shall I go after her?" Nick asked, and Denny nodded gratefully. She'd suffered through all that on her own, too. Nick was good for hugs. She'd probably need one once she'd re-nicotined herself.

Jan stayed put. "I've got a strong stomach if you need to get it out of your system."

Denny felt his chin juddering. "Beaten up. Failed to make enough noise. Hit repeatedly with a motorbike chain. Made _plenty _of noise. Refused to admit that I'd tried to hurt Seamus – they cleaned the chain cuts with a saline wash… don't remember a great deal after that. I woke up on Terry's bed, face down, covered in wires and bandages – about a week later, I think."

Jan's hand squeezed lightly. "Jesus."

"A week after that, found that Allen had made a run for it. Two days after, that it was actually Allen that had told those guys where I was due to meet Seamus. Now there's a loving feat to destroy your faith in human nature – the guy you're supposed to 'marry' handing you over to a bunch of vigilantes. Once I'd established I had no real reason to stay hiding in England, I discovered – via Terry - the existence of the laufer. Thanks to a new passport, birth certificate, and bunch of fake job references – including the nature of my army placement - I went from being James Dennis Grey to Dennis Darren Miller on 21st October 2010, and got the hell out of the country. And then went a bit rogue. Didn't really go back to being 'me' until I met you guys at Tennant's bar. Or, more to the point, met you."

Bloody hell, that was out in the open now. Talk about blurting. He could feel his whole face and neck heating up with blurted confession of the year #2 lingering in the air, but it was true. Jan steadied him, reduced the darker part of him. Returned his faith in human nature, made him feel more hopeful about stuff, more _himself_… and Denny didn't know whether this was because he was a Patriarch, and that was his basic influence, or whether it was just Jan being Jan. Or whether it was just because he was just sex on legs. Denny kicked himself for that latter thought as he felt his neck heat up by an extra three degrees in two seconds.

"It was an intense night all round," Jan agreed drily.

His hand stayed there. Den made no motions to move it whatsoever, even though he'd dried up quite a few moments ago – in face and in mind.

"What do you want to do, Jan?"

"Well, you're not going anywhere."

That sounded a bit like an order. Denny raised a brow. "Really? And I get how much choice in this?"

"The children would go berserk for starters."

Denny nodded understandingly. "The kids would, yeah. Who'd let Theo win at Mario? Not bloody you, you competitive sod. Who'd know that Carianne could only be burped at 35 degrees, or god rest your shirt, jumper, etc?"

Jan chuckled. "These are _some_ of the reasons I don't want you to leave."

"Only some of them?"

"I'd feel rather destroyed if you went."

Jan's statement was so matter-of-fact that it completely took Denny aback for a moment. He'd typically associated that kind of statement with swelling orchestras and the like, but he knew it wasn't that simple.

"What do you want to do, Jan? There's a lot of baggage between the pair of us."

"If you can be patient, I'd like you to stick around and see how heavy the baggage is."

Denny smiled, still slightly in shock. "I can do that."

The back door banged, making them both flinch, and Nick came in at a hurtle.

"Knows how to ruin a mood, doesn't he?" Denny muttered. Jan just elbowed him, keeping his face straight.

"Sorry guys. Really sorry, bad time for me to leave, but Livvy's gone."

Denny sat up straight. "Gone? From hospital?"

"From her room, at least. Renard called. He woke and she wasn't in her bed. She's supposed to be….immobilised. He said he checked in on her a couple of hours ago and she was too hot then, so he's worried she's not in her right mind." Nick ran around, grabbing wallet, jacket etc. "Are you guys going to be ok? I mean, you look ok, but no… underlying resentments that are going to have me back here on duty, or anything?"

"Nick, go. Keep me updated," Jan said. "Did he call hospital security?"

"They're on alert. Denny… I…"

Poor kid still had that really guilty I'm-abandoning-you expression on his face. Denny waved him off. "You've heard the important parts – you're still asking me if I'm ok. We're _all_ fine. Go find Livvy."


	16. No more bombs, please, I'm tired

**Penultimate chapter! I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for all the reviews, as ever… I'm trying to tie up batch one of the loose ends, lol – but there's just a little bit more to come. Be gentle, this one took forever to put together in the background of all the preceding chapters, lol. Finale fluff, next chapter. Big hugs! xxxx**

Nick was simultaneously very grateful for the loan of Jan's SUV to get to Portland General and slightly nervous of damaging it at the same time, even though he was a 'named driver' on the insurance for emergency tot-ferrying. Jan seemed to lose his sense of humour over car dents. It was one of the very few things he was precious about – apart from sauce on his sleeve – though in fairness this singular form of touchiness appeared to disappear when Carianne appeared. She gave him more to worry about than sauce.

Nick plugged his iPhone into the on-board computer in case he needed to take a hands-free update while driving and swung out from the sweeping private residential estate onto the main West Side High Road. It took him all of fifteen minutes to get to Portland General and race up to Livvy's room, hoping she'd been located and returned to bed. His heart sunk to see wrinkled sheets and thrown-off covers – no partner.

Livvy's phone, stuck on loudspeaker, buzzed its way across the top of her bedside table, which was now a few feet away from her bed, pushed along on its coasters. A new message from Graham cut through the quiet in the room. The previous ones had simply been cold and callous – this one was plain threatening: "_What the fuck have you been saying to Izzy? One text from you and she's questioning our relationship. You got dog-in-the-manger syndrome or something? Do I have to come talk to you about this?" _

Nick ground his teeth, picked the phone up and scrolled through the voicemail box, seeing four calls from the guy and three texts since he'd left earlier. There were also a couple of texts from her 'friend', Izzy, which he didn't look at just yet. There were more immediate concerns to take care of. He took his own cell out and put a call into the precinct, reporting Graham Caveney on a stalking and harassment charge, citing threatening behaviour. All his personal contact details were still in her phone. After the cake episode, he couldn't go after Caveney himself, but he could make damn sure that someone else visited the guy for a shakedown. The night-time duty sergeant went off the line for a few minutes, then came back to report that Wu was actually in the process of tracking Caveney down himself. He'd heard the messages while Livvy was sleeping and was absolutely furious.

Nick pocketed Livvy's phone to keep it safe and moved off to find Renard, see if he had any more details. He turned on his heel and nearly slammed into the man himself as he crutched his way up from behind, sweating vehemently with the effort of keeping his leg off the ground. He'd clearly been out looking. "No sign, then?"

Renard breathed out hard. "Did… a whole circuit of this floor, except ladies' bathroom, which is closed. I checked the stairwells going to the seventh, but had to.. come back and…"

"Let's go sit," Nick cut in and once perched on the end of his bed, the weight off his leg, Renard regained his breath and a little colour. "Okay, so I'll check the seventh and ninth floor and the washrooms. Why can't I see hospital security running around?"

Renard looked poisonously angry. "Because apparently, their only job is to deal with patients and visitors who are 'a threat to others', not to round up lost patients. And don't get me started on the med staff. Apart from one pretty decent doctor, someone is going to get it in the neck over this cops' corridor nursing standard."

Nick blinked. That was probably the most Renard had said in one go, ever, apart from his 'I hurt Hank to protect you' rant. He stayed focussed. "You said she wasn't making much sense when you checked on her. What did she say?"

Renard pulled a doubtful face. "Nothing significant, Nick. She had quite a temperature."

"Come on."

"Fine. She begged me not to let you grow a beard, among other things."

Nick wondered what that was supposed to be a sign of. Did Andersens have visions of the future? It wasn't something she'd disclosed last night, but then, she wasn't exactly the self-disclosing type. "Did she say why?"

"She seemed principally concerned that it would look terrible."

"Ok," Nick muttered, making a note not to shave for two months, just to annoy her. "I'll go check upstairs."

He took off to the ninth floor first, did a whole lap, in and out of washrooms, alarming a lady in baby-changing, then before wasting any more time, zipped back to the nurse's bank to ask them to get maintenance to bring all lifts back to the eighth and hold them there. The idea of her getting out of the grounds with a high fever just didn't bear thinking about.

He paused at the desk for a moment, trying to work out where she might be going specifically, if not simply trying to escape a room with Graham's voice constantly ringing through it, then remembered Renard saying that the eighth floor washrooms were closed...

He'd tried the ninth, so he headed for the seventh floor bathrooms. He was jogging at such a clip that he nearly ran past her. Something compelled him to stop. He turned and saw nothing, but heard quiet, hitching breathing at the edge of his hearing. He backstepped, now not convinced he'd heard anything, then found her slumped down in a ball in the small gap between the ice water and snack vending machines, her arms round her knees and forehead on forearms. How did he not see her there before? He lunged over, nearly taking his kneecaps out on the lino as he bent beside her, putting his fingers against the pulse in her neck. It was hard to pick up through her violent shaking and at first she flinched away from him.

"It's alright Livvy, it's me."

"Unh?" She raised her head blearily.

He took her face in his hands and tried to get her to focus on him. "Look at me, Livs."

"Whaddya th'k I'm... doing?"

"God, you're blazing hot. C'mon, we need to get you some help." He gathered her up and stood. Weirdly, she felt lighter than she had earlier out on the grass, even with the lower-leg brace. Insubstantial. "How did you get up here?"

"Lift." she mumbled. "An'... there was a chair."

He flashed her a slight smile as he strode towards the nurses' bank. "Trust you to jack a wheelchair."

"Wasun anyone innit," she protested. "And I had to get out of the room. Graham was there all the time. 't least… his voice was. It was just… getting to me."

Nick frowned. "I thought I'd turned it to silent for you?"

"Turned it back on again. Wanted to hear Dad's message." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, needed the bathroom, managed the bathroom, then felt weird." She looked up at him uncertainly and shivered. "Feel even weirder now, Nick."

Her eyes went completely out of focus and her face flopped against him.

"Livs? LIVVY?"

He almost sprinted down the corridor with her, smacking doors open with his foot and using his butt to hold them still so he could get them both through without hitting her legs on anything. Dr Heath looked up from behind one of the nurse bank PCs at his noisy approach and thankfully yelled for a gurney which arrived in moments, along with all the necessary monitoring gear. Nick stood back to give her space while she got Livvy onto the BP machine and swore quietly at the 95/58 reading, 104bpm pulse and 39.6 degree temp. He watched, hands on hips and apprehensive as she was treated right there in the corridor with anti-pyrexic drugs before being moved off to intensive care. Unable to help for now, he returned to her room on the eighth and gathered her possessions for her.

Renard appeared at his room door. "Find her?"

"Yeah, but she's in a bad way. Intensive care. I'm going to go sit with her, when I'm allowed – they're just trying to figure out where this fever's sprung up from."

"I know she's an Andersen," Renard offered suddenly. "It took Jan to point it out to me – I really _do_ need to share my staffing workload in the squadroom, somehow – but I only know a very little bit about them. A key problem for them is that they don't cope well with unresolved emotion. Their own, that is. It gets turned inwards. Maybe the results manifest themselves physically."

"Is that why she blurts stuff out? Kind of a ... steam hatch or something?" Nick swallowed. He hoped that their whole 'filter' arrangement hadn't contributed to this in any way.

"If it's a release mechanism, it's not big enough. She came to see me the day after she split from Caveney to ask for a couple of days out of the office to make cancellation arrangements for everything. I offered her two weeks' compassionate leave as a starting point, but no matter what I said to reassure her, I think she felt that she had something to 'prove' as a female rookie in a male precinct. She said she wanted the distraction of work, but that's a lot of emotion to button down. Especially for an Andersen."

"Yeah." Nick sighed. "For all the blurting, she's pretty private. I didn't even know she was engaged until yesterday afternoon." He blinked. "God, that feels like a hundred years ago, now."

"What happened yesterday afternoon?"

Nick coughed slightly. "Jan hasn't told you yet?"

"What did you do?"

He told Renard about the cake-in-the-face incident.

"And he's putting a complaint in about this? How hard was that cake, Nick?"

Nick shuffled his feet. "It was the plate that did the damage."

Renard rolled his eyes as he levered himself properly back onto his bed and took a sip of drink. "In some ways, it's almost a shame that this Caveney guy isn't Ziegvolk or something."

"Why the hell is that a shame?" It felt so surreal freely discussing wesen with his Captain.

"Well, at least then she would have an explanation for how she got sucked into a relationship with someone like that. It might make her feel better to know that she'd been ensnared by the Casanova of the wesen world - that it was against her will."

Nick almost grinned. "Being told that she'd spent three years with a sociopathic goat would make her feel better?"

"Put like that..."

"No, I know what you mean. She needs a reason for why she didn't see through him earlier. At least Ziegvolk victims can blame it all on the drugs." They both kind of stared at the floor for a moment.

"Nick, you wanted me to explain about your aunt―"

He held up a hand. "I know, but not right now." He felt this incredible urge to add absolutely no more drama to his day. He'd felt he'd had enough even before Denny collapsed on him and Jan. "Not to say that I don't appreciate you trying to… make a clean breast of things while we're alone, but… I'd like to cope with the bombs a few at a time, alright?"

Renard sat slightly. "Is there more trust there now, Nick?"

He looked at the Captain flatly. "It's been a long day with a lot of history to take in. Trust is going to take longer. But I've come to feel that there was probably some method in your madness."

"Alright."

Nick slid off the bed. "I'm going to get some air and see if I have any better luck with her mom than Jan did. Then I'll go see how she is. If there's any change for better or worse, I'll give you a buzz."

Because he wanted a little air rather than a faceful of arctic wind, Nick stole out the back door and strolled alongside the shrubs lining the side of the building, keeping close to the wall so he could find somewhere peaceful to call Livvy's mom. He checked through the messages first, getting freshly angry about Graham's, but none of them were from her mom. One from her father, sounding very concerned and apologetic for not being able to fly down before Boxing Day. He transferred Dr Andersen's number from Livvy's phone to his and dialled. He got voicemail and left a hopefully not-too-terse message to call him back.

The yelling travelled to him on the wind. He pricked his ears up and heard what sounded like a domestic dispute round the corner where the main steps of the hospital were. The male voice was indistinct at first, then appealing, then angry – the female interspersions increasingly fraught until he heard "get the hell off me!"

Nick jogged round the corner and saw a blonde girl wrench her arm out of some guy's grip, determined to get into the hospital. Her face clicked in his memory: Starbucks, standing and calling after Livvy… 'I never set out to hurt your feelings!' The guy was Graham. Great. He couldn't go near him with the outstanding complaint. A couple of hospital security guards waddled outside to see what all the fuss was about and Nick took a quiet moment at the corner to call Wu.

"Caveney's here," he whispered.

"Here is where, Burkhardt? Give the Wu a clue!"

"At the moment, at Portland General, screaming at his current girlfriend. It's not normally a back-up situation, but I can't go near him except to―"

He heard a thump and a thud as one of the guards went rolling down the steps, the other trotting down after him and yelling for help. Ok, that was enough for intervention.

"Gotta go," he said to Wu, hung up and jogged over, flashing his badge. Caveney had changed his approach from yelling and grabbing to wheedling, down on his knees in front of Izzy and weeping. Nick approached, disgusted. Addressed the security guys first. "You ok?"

"Yeah right," the injured one grunted from the floor, clutching his shoulder. "Arrest that asshole, wouldya?"

"Go away," the girl yelled at Caveney, but she was backed into a corner by the doors, Caveney right in front of her.

Nick took her hand and pulled her sideways out of the way and behind him. "Stay there."

"Izzy, it's not what you think!"

Caveney was weirdly leaning round him like he was nothing but a physical inconvenience to their conversation. Nick wondered if the guy had even looked up and recognised him yet.

"I heard you on the phone!" Izzy screeched. "You were yelling at her and telling her to get out of the flat and she's in fricking hospital! How could you be so cold? Why would I stay with you? You'll be doing that to me in a year's time―"

"NO I WON'T! I'm just trying to help us move on, Iz! I'm…. sorry. I was angry. But it was for _us._"

"Don't tell me it was on my account! We were in no rush to move in together, remember?"

"She was turning into a bunny-boiler! You saw her in the coffee shop! Coming up and siccing her boyfriend on me―"

"Boyfriend?" Nick spluttered. "I recall her introducing me as her partner."

Finally the penny dropped for Caveney and he looked up first with a chip-toothed face of dread, then fury. "You!"

"Why the surprise? She's my _partner. _Course I'm going to be here!" Nick glanced back briefly at Izzy. "I would move, if I were you. Inside."

The guy scrambled to his feet. "I-I made a complaint about you. You can't touch me. I'll sue."

He figured that all he had to do was keep the guy talking until Wu arrived. "Am I going to need to touch you? Or are you going to quit making a public nuisance and back off?"

"What did she tell you about me?" Caveney asked after a long moment of uncertainty.

"Nothing. She's a completely private person in the precinct."

The guy laughed hollowly. "Yeah, right. The girl that can't keep her thoughts to herself?"

"How did you manage it?" Nick asked, genuinely curious. "She reads people so well. How did you manage to keep that front up for so long?"

Caveney brushed his hands off and looked tired, knowing he'd lost the fight with Izzy already. He looked irritated and bored, like he'd lost a commodity, not a girlfriend. Maybe that's how he did it, Nick realised. He didn't care how they felt. You could put on a mask for a long time if you didn't care about what happened to someone else's feelings at the other end of it. Caveney made Renard seem cuddly in comparison.

"She seemed worth the effort. For a while."

"And what about me?" Izzy barked from behind. "How long would it've been before I became an 'effort'?"

"You've been an effort from the very beginning," Caveney muttered.

Suddenly Nick found himself holding Izzy back as she went for him with her bag, swinging wildly and managing to clip him at least once round the ear with it before Nick pushed her back. He turned at the wrong moment and nearly got a fist in his face, which he deflected with his forearm, and then of course Caveney went for him. The next punch he deflected even more easily as it was a clumsy round-house, and Nick gripped his sleeve and pulled it up the guy's back, pulling both hands together. Caveney kicked backwards, catching him in the kneecap with the corner of his heel and with a sharp yell, Nick threw Caveney off the side of the steps into the Rhododendrons. Just as Wu was arriving.

"Another grim mood, Nick?" Wu asked, retrieving Caveney from the shrubbery. "Don't worry, I'll take this one away."

"Thanks," Nick panted, handing him over. "You know the background, I take it?"

"Sure do. Did you just defend yourself?"

"Yep."

"Good," Wu muttered, "Cause there's CCTV up there. C'mon you ass," He hauled Caveney to the squadcar. "There's history on this guy, Nick. I'll call you when I've got my hands free."

Nick went to return inside, Izzy following him. He turned with a frown. "Please don't tell me you're considering going to see Livvy right now?"

She swallowed hard, her eyes moist. "I wanted to say sorry."

"Send her a message, and follow up with a visit when she's out of hospital," Nick said curtly. "I'll let her know what's happened, but she's in no shape for any more upset. She's been shot. Alright? We're not just talking a little bump here."

Her lip wobbled. "Okay. Please tell her I'm sorry, ok? I don't… I don't know what came over me. We've been friends since we were little."

"I'll tell her," Nick promised, and went back up to Intensive care. He might, in the morning. All he planned to do tonight was show Livvy that not everyone considered her to be an 'effort'.

**X x X**

Hank rose with the sun, stretched in front of the mirror and liked what he saw – apart from the slight paleness of exam day. His figure had survived a few weeks of non-activity pretty well. Probably a load of nervous energy burned up a few unnecessary bagels.

"C'mon man, get a grip. Can't be that bad. You done alllll the rest. It's just these damn tickbox back-to-back tests now and you… are… done."

He breathed out slowly and counted to ten. Didn't work, he was still crapping himself. Ok – distraction. Distraction therapy…. He'd chosen the world's most boring book to take to the exam to read beforehand, but until then… ommmmmmmm.

He checked his phone briefly and was relieved to see a positive report on Livvy from both Jan and Nick. Her temp was down a little, and she was sitting up and being inappropriate. He'd swing by after his exam with flowers, he decided. Hank chuckled, showered, ate a timid amount of breakfast and went to get in his Camaro, switching the radio on. The local news was still obsessed with yesterday's student riot, any interest in the fire having waned under the weight of Nick's fight-stopping performance. He was glad not to be at work right now. Nick was even trending on Yahoo and Bing, not that he'd been paying any attention, with Livvy in such a bad way. The radio reporter's voice droned on in an annoying sing-song way.

"…the reclusive detective has yet to speak to us himself, despite the flood of calls from parents asking how he'd made that kind of impact on their 'children' with no more than a little shouting, but he has relayed a message through Area Commandant Tony DeMarcos that he was simply in a 'grim mood'."

Hank pulled over in disbelief, smacking the wheel of his car. "NICK! Goddamn it!" Did the guy not think about how this kind of revelation would affect anyone else? It might help to explain things if wesen started yelling 'grim' at him in front of humans, but the downsides… they'd be lucky to get a normal human case ever again. Not that they appeared to have _had_ a normal human case between the pair of them for quite some time, but that seriously wasn't the point. He wondered how this had gone down with Jan and which particular dire revenge of embarrassment Nick had to look forward to.

He got to the precinct first to pick up his exam hall admittance papers (he'd been worried he'd shred them in a moment of panic if he kept them back home) and was surrounded at his car door the moment he stepped out, microphones shoved in his face. Nick had thrown a Grimm hissy fit and stopped a fight, for God's sake. It wasn't the first or last time that a cop would achieve that.

"…Detective Griffin! What's it been like working with a partner with such a hot temper?"

"A hot _what_? Oh, temper!" Mischief occurred to him and he fought to remain deadpan. If Nick wanted wesen attention, he would _get_ wesen attention. "Ah well, he's a good guy, you know. Gets a little wound up sometimes, but grim moods are just part of the job. He's had a hard time lately and he's just a little lonely and misunderstood. Let's not go making a big deal out of this. Excuse me folks, gotta get inside, gotta get inside…"

He pushed through the reporters and jogged up to his desk, chuckling to himself. Papers in hand, he made his way to the exam hall, feeling a little brighter about things and not sure if he'd even need the Non-Violent communication book he'd borrowed from Jan to bore himself witless with before the exam. He was beginning to believe in the concept of boredom and fear not co-existing. He certainly now had proof that he couldn't feel fearful while he felt fiendish. The car drive took five minutes and he almost skipped up the steps, whistling.

**X x X**

"Oi! Up!"

Jan pulled an eye open to find Denny looming over him, fully dressed, pointing towards the shower. He hurt everywhere. Not even a fully-woged run in the woods last night, after Denny had gone to bed, had made any kind of preventative impression on the state his upper body was in this morning. He squinted his one open eye at the bedside clock. 06:30. Oh God. Every last muscle above his chest was punishing him for his car-drop the day before. He tried pulling a pillow over his head to absolutely no avail. Denny whipped it off, then the quilt, leaving him a miserable, achey ball on the mattress. Jan whined pointlessly.

"It's too early!"

"You'd never have lasted long as a druid, would you? C'mon. I'd normally let you snoozle a bit longer but I'm a bit outnumbered downstairs."

"Sure, sorry," Jan croaked. He swung his legs over the bed and pushed up from the mattress only to have his arms completely fail him both in terms of getting impetus and then bracing his fall as he face-planted on the carpet. "Ow."

"Um.. that was elegant. You alright?"

"No. I'm as stiff as a board."

"Well I wake up like that too from time to time but it doesn't usually tip me over."

Jan glanced up at this unsympathetic response but Denny's juvenile smirk was completely infectious.

"Need a hand?"

"I will survive my stiffness alone, thank you." Jan faked a sulky huff and clambered to his feet, making his way to the bathroom as Denny laughed 'martyr!' at his retreating back. He stepped into the shower, taking his usual deep breath first, but after the first half minute under the spray, realised that he wasn't gripping the tops of the shower glass as tightly as he usually did. Gritting his teeth against panic, he slowly managed to lift his face into the spray. He breathed hard through it, but didn't get the feeling of drowning. For the first time in a long time. The relief made him laugh quietly to himself. Looks like Denny wasn't the only one moving on, now. He washed his hair and managed to rinse out, water over his face, without his hands shaking.

He felt a lot lighter than he had done in the last couple of weeks. Not that he and Denny hadn't been getting along, but they'd kind of been dancing around each other. Seeing Denny vulnerable gave him a severe fright. Seeing him better… thank God.

Though he did want to speak to Remus about 'James Grey's' Interpol record. After what Denny had told him about the abuse charge, he refused to believe that Remus would overlook that and fail to tell him about it on a hunch that Denny was a good man. He'd at least bring it to his attention to deal with in his own way. Jan's suspicion was that it had never appeared on the Interpol record. Remus' official records would only list outstanding charges relating to fugitives. Perhaps, with his father dead, the boy - Seamus - had reversed his statement.

He rinsed and towelled off, dressed and trotted down the stairs to hear Helene giving Theo 'posh' lessons. Jan rubbed his son's head as he obediently struggled to put his staccato Americanised-Dutch to one side to shove some extra vowels into 'the rain in Spain falls mainly down the drain'.

"Nearly," she congratulated cautiously. "Let's try some long vowels to practice. We'll start with a Royal 'No'. Repeat after me, 'Neau'."

"N'oh."

"Nearly. Raise the 'o' slightly and drag it out. You try it, Jan."

"Uh... No?"

She raised a trimmed brow at him. "Honestly, for a man who's so precious about his f-like V's and k-like G's, that was a poor effort. Denny, show them how's it's done."

"No!"

She winced. "God, that was pure Vinnie Jones!"

"Meant to be!" he bellowed from the sink.

"Oh play nice, you big grump."

Denny rolled his eyes almightily as he handed Jan a coffee. "Bloody hell. Alright. _Neau_."

"You make it sound so easy," Jan murmured.

"Practice, mate. Lots of practice."

Jan swigged on his coffee and discreetly led Denny to one side. "Look, what you told me last night..." and explained his thoughts about the Interpol records. "It's entirely up to you, but it might help you get some closure."

"Bit nervous about that, to be honest. I mean, I really appreciate the thought and the consent to find out, don't get me wrong, but... what if the charge is still live? Won't it raise all sorts of flags saying that I'm still around somewhere if Remus starts asking questions about me now?"

"I imagine he'll go through his Laufer network, not his official channels."

Denny stared at him for a long moment, then Jan remembered with chilly blood in his veins that he'd been out of the room with Carianne when Renard had explained how he came to be recruited into the Laufer. Then Den blinked and scratched the back of his head. "So... the one they called 'the one they call Remus' is actually called... Remus?"

"Yes."

"Oh. That takes all the mystery out of it, I'm telling you."

"He's a lot more discreet than me, I promise," Jan murmured apologetically, "but if this has somewhat undermined your confidence, I'll understand."

"Go for it."

"Really?"

Denny nodded decisively. "Yeah. If it's still there... the charge that is, it sucks and I'll just have to keep trying to put it behind me. If it's not there... it'll really, really help."

"Ok, I'll talk to him this morning. I'm supposed to go and see Renard and the Area Commandant. I'm sure he won't be far away. We haven't exactly had the chance to 'catch up' while he's been over here." He drained his coffee, then remembered his discussion about the Silver Command nightmare. "Oh, by the way... you may wish to know that both Wu and Hanna have submitted formal complaints about the Mayor's office interference in the Gold Command suite yesterday. I'm not sure it's enough to get your job back, but..."

Denny grinned. "That's nice of them. Look, I'll have to think about that. The long and the short of it is that so long as I'm in that post, there will be a lot of occasions where I'm having to direct ground crew while you lot are running around getting into a pickle, under gunfire, or whatever. I can't trust myself to stay on the phone and not-join-in, so to speak. It seemed a really good idea at the time, but I'd either have to be fully operational or fully office-based, I think. I can't do a half-between thing."

Jan was relieved, feeling that Denny had made the right decision. Plus, he didn't think he could win the fight to get his job back. "Which would suit you better?"

"Operational," Denny grinned. "Army's out, obviously, but I think I still have a few more years of lifting heavy objects and kicking doors down. If I can get my head around this ridiculous sick-and-wounded-women phobia, I'll probably apply for the crisis paramedic service again. There's a slight snag, though."

Jan raised a brow. "What's that?"

"We can't both be operational while I'm staying here or you'd end up getting another babysitter for the kids, and that's what I'm supposed to be here for."

"You're not just the babysitter, Den." Jan felt that Den had overlooked a different possibility here, for _him_ to stop being operational. As much as he loved his job, he'd appreciate being able to get out of the office earlier to pick Theo up himself more often, to guess the 'painting of the day' first hand. He bent down and picked Carianne out of her baby bouncer, resting her on his forearm and giving her a tummy-tickle. She gave him a delighted little laugh, as if she'd wondered where this little spurt of affection had come from. He could do with spending more time with them.

Jan nipped upstairs, did his teeth and got his possessions together as Den cleared up the kitchen and got Theo organised for nursery, his mother helping by holding Carianne for a little bit. Yeah, he'd definitely talk to Renard about his working arrangements at least. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford to go part time, if necessary. He had the feeling that the people of Portland would find it very reassuring seeing Denny coming for them when they got into trouble.

: : : : :

Denny strapped Carianne to his front and waited for Jan to leave the house and for his mom to busy herself with Theo's shoes before sneaking out the back door and calling Renard. The guy answered pretty much immediately, but asked him to wait a sec while he finished the call he was in the middle of.

"Yeah," Renard said briskly, coming back on the line. "What can I do for you?"

"Interesting 'instinct' you had yesterday," Denny murmured. "Are telescopic danger signals part of the Hexenbiest condition?"

"Are they part of the Siegbarste condition?" Renard countered. "You wouldn't know about my instincts if you didn't recognise them for yourself."

"Uh-unh," Denny said. He'd only had one of those moments thus far, when Jan had gone out into the woods late at night to let stress off, and it had lasted all of five seconds before he heard energetic roaring in the distance. He'd just had that one moment of discomfort of not knowing where Jan was. "I called to ask about you. Stop being a sneaky bugger and turning this around on me. As it happens, I know about the instinct because I'm a historian. You've seen my 'Grey' records. You know what I got my degrees in."

"I'm sure your wesen and human history is excellent, Miller, but the simple fact is that you know about the instinct because you're Jan's champion. And you know that, even if he doesn't."

"I think it's safe for you to start calling me Denny – AGGHHHHH! Getcha fingers out of there!" the yell came out before he could stop it and Denny hastily retrieved Carianne's hand from his armpit.

"Do I even want to know what's going on?"

"Carianne," Denny muttered. "Icy fingers up my sleeve. Pest. Back to the point. I am not Jan's champion. Nick is."

"I think you're in denial, Denny."

"Siegbarstes are _not _champions."

Renard gave a quiet chuckle from the other end of the line that irritated him. "You would think not. You wouldn't think that a Hexenbiest could be a champion either, but we didn't get to choose, did we? Not that I'm complaining. It's been for the better."

"Ok – supposing I _have_ had those 'instincts'. Are we competing for Patriarch bodyguard rights here?"

"Theo selected me, Denny, not Jan. We're not in competition. If anything, I'm going to need you to do my job half the time, like you did yesterday."

Denny goggled. "Theo's a….?"

"Yes." The answer sounded a little stiff.

He blinked, then chuckled, rather liking the idea of Renard being the unsung bodyguard to a kid still getting to grips with the difference between science and mess. "Right. And you got 'selected'… when?"

"His school sports day. You?"

"I'm still not convinced I have been selected."

"So… how had you explained your aggressively protective attitude towards Jan to yourself, then?"

"Love, you pillock." Denny was amazed how easy that was to say out loud now, even if it kind of only went one way, so far. Jan was _perhaps_ more than fond of him, but there were other complications. Like the kids. Their lives would be confusing enough as little wesen. And for all his joking about gay lion kings, Jan was straight on paper. He'd never had a relationship with a guy. Only ever a crush, which he hadn't done anything about.

"You still there?" Renard asked eventually.

Denny cleared his throat. "Yeah. Look, I didn't just ring to call you a pillock."

"I'm relieved."

He chuckled. "Thanks. For mum. Reuniting us, y'know."

There was a long pause. "You're welcome. Was there anything else?"

"A couple of things." Denny caught Carianne's fist this time, before it snuck back up his sleeve. "First, did you sort things out with Nick?"

"We've had an almost-civil conversation."

"Good. You going to tell him why you have such an interest in Jan's kid?"

"Not immediately. He asked me last night to space out the truth bombs, so to speak. I don't think there's anything very wrong about keeping this one to ourselves for a short while."

Denny grunted. True enough. Besides, the fewer people that knew about Jan's Patriarch status, the fewer who could accidentally let it slip. Not that it was likely to endanger Jan, particularly, but it might change him. Put pressure on him to do more things with his influence. He felt that the guy had more than enough to contend with, for now.

"There is one more thing." Denny smirked. "There's the small matter of Theo's nativity play on Christmas Eve. It's your moral responsibility to be there, as his Champion, and fully join in on audience participation…"

**X x X**

Livvy woke slowly and felt her hand aching. No, not her hand… her wrist. Her fingers, which she rubbed together confusedly, were cold and slightly numb. Full of pins and needles. She pulled her eyes open and saw Nick's head on her forearm, cutting off her circulation. He was fast asleep, facing her, looking far, far away, but peaceful. "Uh… Nick?"

He didn't move. Sunlight streamed through the window. Had he been with her _all night_?

"Ni-ick!" She leant forward a little and shook his shoulder with her other hand, but he was out like a stoned sloth. She sat up a little more but the change of balance made her butt slide down the bed and jarred her leg in the hanging sleeve. "Ow," she barely murmured, and Nick's head shot straight up wrist.

"You alright?"

Livvy stared at him. "How do you do that?"

"What?" he was grinning all over his face as he leant over and helped her shuffle back in the bed.

"Wake like an uncoiled spring? Is it a Grimm thing?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Probably not – Jan said I've always done that. It's so good to see you awake. And looking a _whole_ lot better. Do you remember anything?"

Images flashed through her head. Falling over in the bathroom. Trying and failing to get a drink from the ice machine before realising it was an ice machine, not an ice water machine. Nick leaning over before she went to sleep in a different bed – this bed – ruffling her hair and then staying there with her, her hand in his. Saying that he'd stick around. A huge amount of warmth came off his hand. Maybe it helped her get better.

"A little," she said. "Thank you. For staying."

"You're welcome." He stretched blearily, then sat on the side of her bed. "Look, you were in a really bad way last night. I'm not sure how much you heard me telling you, but it looks like…" he paused awkwardly. "God, this is horrible. It looks like Graham was a gold digger. And it looks like your ex-friend Izzy has a little more substance than I'd thought. She wanted to come see you, but you were in no fit state and I had no interest in seeing you get more upset. You weren't even strong enough to…glow."

Livvy was confused. "I'm sure you're going to tell me how all this fits together in a moment?"

Nick did. He put her phone back in her cupboard for her and went through last night's adventures: finding her nearly passed out downstairs, going to ring her mom and intervening in a fight between Izzy and Graham out on the front of the hospital. It made her feel very slightly better to know that Izzy had been as big a fool about Graham as she had. But also, that the reason Izzy had broken away was because how Graham had treated _her_.

"I spoke to her really briefly," Nick explained. "She was apologetic, tearful. Had no idea why Graham wanted you out of the flat so urgently and had only found out you'd been hurt after hearing him leaving you a nasty message. She's not sure how she could've ever thought the guy had a heart in him."

Livvy frowned. Shouldn't this reminder of her total failure to see through him make her feel worse? Not really. Maybe it was a safety-in-numbers thing. Nick had that pensive look on his face that he always seemed to have when he was gearing himself up to explain another weird wesen thing to her. "You fought him, so he got stressed, right? Did he turn into a wesen?"

He smiled. "No. He's just a prick. And an excellent conman. Making people think he's a nice guy is how he earns his living. You and Izzy aren't the first."

She didn't know what Nick meant. "Huh?"

"He sent so many nasty messages that I called the precinct last night to report him for harassment. After I'd joined you in Intensive care, I got a call back from our Sergeant. Graham's been married twice already, at least, and seems to have had at least two identities."

"What?"

"It's what he does. He gets engaged, arranges a pre-nup, marries on the cheap and then finds a quick reason for divorce. His first two wives were very well off, like he thought you were…"

Where the hell did Graham get that idea? … and then, it started coming back to her. And all started clicking into place. She barely heard the rest of what Nick explained. Six months ago – a wedding budget dinner with her parents, discussing all kinds of details, Graham squeezing her hands affectionately as her mom went completely overboard with the details, right down to the emergency rose petals. A multi, multi-thousand dollar wedding for her only daughter. Her mom hadn't seen through him, either. That was hugely reassuring. She remembered laughing later that night with Graham in bed about the enthusiasm, the attempts to get her mom to calm down a little, and his comment: "God, I hope we're not using your inheritance up on one day!"

She didn't have an inheritance, she'd explained. Her parents didn't do that. You live while you're alive, as do your children. It's the only way to ensure that they learn to fully fend for themselves. She'd thought that he'd been appalled by the lack of parental warmth behind this policy. Livvy swallowed. Clearly he was more appalled by the lack of wifely money behind this policy. It wasn't long after the wedding planning night that she'd caught Graham picking Izzy up from the carpet in a hug hold. Izzy had 'fallen over', apparently, and banged her head on the coffee table. At her moment of pause, Graham looked sadly at her, like a wounded fiancé. How could she be so unsympathetic, paranoid and irrational? How could she be so distrustful? She'd chosen to believe them. And continue to believe them for another six months.

Livvy let out a mirthless laugh. Izzy _was _loaded. She had a six-figure salary and a trust fund. In a strange way, she almost pitied Izzy being his next victim. Almost. But her best friend agreeing that she was hard work and 'succumbing' to his charms was pretty high up on the stinky behaviour scale.

"…And that's how the koala came to have herpes," Nick finished.

Livvy blinked. "What did you say?"

"Did you hear _any_ of what I was saying?"

"Um… yeah!" she fibbed, then met his eyes with a bashful grin. "Ok, no."

He rolled his eyes. "Ok, summary. We have arrested Graham for stalking and harassment, common assault – on a security guard and on Izzy, and attempted assault on a Police Officer. Me. And there's something else you need to know."

"What's that?"

"I'm growing a beard."

She looked at Nick, askance. "Is this another way of checking I'm still listening?"

He just giggled and stood. "You begged, _begged_ our Captain not to let me grow one last night."

Livvy dipped her head in her hands. "Great. More professional dignity. Thank God he's grown a little lighter round the edges." Oops. Filter break-down.

"Pardon me?"

She leant past him gingerly, then realised that she was no longer on the same floor or near the Captain. "He used to completely give me the creeps, until a few weeks ago. There was this thick smoky cloud round him all the time. Heavy doubt. Anger. Stress. Then he went on leave, so I guess he resolved whatever personal issues he had. He's not exactly all sun and light, now, but he doesn't leave cold air in his wake anymore."

Nick looked bemused for a moment, then mildly relieved. "That's good to know. Wouldn't want him in that mood when he signs off my annual report." He hopped off the bed. "I gotta go for a while. Need to see Warwick. You going to be ok? Hank's stopping in after he's finished his exams."

"Yeah, I'll be fine." And she felt like she meant it, this time. "Thanks so much. Really. And uh… for what it's worth, I think you could _just _about handle a beard."

Nick gave her a mock clip upside the head, but pulled her blanket up and handed her the water before leaving, leaving, making her feel all glowy. She smiled after him. It was nice to have a 'big brother.'

**X x X**

Nick rapped on Hilde's door. He heard her unmistakeable tread inside, followed by a quiet, then the rapid rustling and clanking of inner locks. It shouldn't have surprised him to be snatched inside and nearly snapped in half with a hug, but he'd forgotten how quickly she moved for a big lady.

"How is my favourite Grimm?"

Slightly bruised, he thought, but still had a grin for her. "Good. A little achey. I slept at 90 degrees most of last night, I think."

"Tea?"

"Please." He blinked fatigue out of his eyes as he followed her into the kitchen. It was a nice apartment she had. A lot more modern than he was expecting it to be, in honesty, but then he supposed that Renard had set her up and he wasn't exactly the antiquated furniture type. The room shouted his taste, by and large. A fair bit of minimalism going on, slightly ruined by the pile of paper in on the coffee table, items of clothes scattered here and there, and the complete mess of a desk against the back wall. The air smelt spicy, for some reason.

"We have made cake," she announced. "I'll cut you a slice."

"You bake?"

"As of this morning, I do. Warwick made this one. It looks a little suspicious, but let's see how it tastes."

It surprised Nick that Warwick felt up to baking. But then, Hilde was unconventional. "Where is Warwick?"

"Here."

Nick's eyes snapped open wide at the sight of the pale teenager wearing a pale blue shirt, untucked, and denims, standing in the bathroom doorway. He was no longer an emo in posture or appearance. He had short hair. _His_ hair, actually. Warwick approached shyly, pointing self-consciously at his 'do' and keeping his voice low.

"Sorry about this. I intend to have my own way with it with wax at some point, but it seems that she likes your style."

"You alright?"

Warwick sat next to him on the couch. "Honestly? I don't know. Still kind of numb, where I'm not hungover. God."

Nick smiled wryly as the kid pulled his hands down his face. "Did getting stinking drunk help?"

"Yeah, it did. And Hilde was great with the crying last night. But I've got to face up to feeling more upset at some point." Warwick fiddled with his sleeve button. "Any news on my mom?"

He winced. "Her initial paperwork went before the DA. I'm really sorry, but it looks like she's facing some serious custodial time. Other people have come forward since to make accusations of blackmail, directly linked to her – not your father."

"She won't cope well," Warwick remarked. "She can't adapt to situations. Will I be able to visit?"

"Yeah." Nick didn't know quite what more to say on the Mrs Presley topic. "I'm really sorry, Warwick. You had two parents this time last week. I've been through something similar. I know it's completely… bewildering."

"Thanks," Warwick said simply. But nodded back at Hilde, who approached with a thick, flat cake. It was about an inch high – like half a Victoria sponge – and speckled with black. "Hilde's been helping with the bewilderment stuff. When I'm having a moment when I don't like my parents, even my father, I say so. I don't hold stuff back."

"Perhaps hold a little back at the funeral," Hilde amended. "You were in full flow last night."

"I'm not going," Warwick said firmly. His eyes met Hilde's and they had an affectionate stand-off which she conceded.

"It is your father, your choice. I just think…"

"…that you might be missing an opportunity," Nick finished for her. "I was angry with my parents for years for not being able to say goodbye."

"I've been angry for years for not being able to say 'hello' without one of them saying 'go away'. No, I probably sound the biggest brat alive and I don't care, but I don't miss them yet. And I can't imagine my feelings changing about that. Not in this imagined lifetime. Not now that I've met people who know how to be parents."

Nick felt the gaze directed at him and felt unworthy of it, really. Denny had done more than he had. And the other federation guys – Rosalee being honorary 'guy' of course – had all done their best to make him feel like family. He just hooked his arm round Warwick's neck and gave him the world's most rapid hug. Warwick grinned back at him.

"Got a text from Denny earlier, inviting both of us to join the UFRS for Christmas dinner. We can't because we won't be here, but… what's the UFRS when it's at home?"

Nick chuckled. "I didn't think that would take long. United Federation of Rare Species. You count. You're a gracious Geier – not many of you around."

"Is Livvy a member?"

"Give her five minutes with Denny and she will be. He's probably setting up your email accounts and making your shirts as we speak."

"Wow," Warwick said. "Better than a membership badge."

Nick rewound what he'd said. "You won't be here? Where are you going?"

Hilde clapped her hand on his knee, putting his leg out of action for the rest of the day. "I have spoken to Sean at some length this morning. I need to go to Manzini to get Swazi Aloe. Sure, it can be posted, but I need to dehydrate it in a special way, which can only be done on site. It is only for three weeks. Warwick is coming with me." She handed him a slice of dubious cake.

Nick inspected it gingerly. "Uh… thanks… um… what's so great about Swazi Aloe?"

"It's the best stroge and panoge palliative I have found. Works very quickly to relax the muscles, restore the heart rate, and so on. Thus far, I only managed to get a formula working to make it a cream."

"Rosie used the cream," Nick remembered suddenly. "Denny suffered a bad one but he was up and around in about an hour, I'd say."

Hilde grinned broadly. "This is very good news, but I suspect that this Denny – Warwick is this the almost-Siegbarste you were telling me about?"

"Yes."

"I suspect that his recovery time is because he is Siegbarste and feels less pain. It will not be so quick for everyone. No – I want the aloe in bullet-form." At his wild stare, she chuckled. "Quick-working, silly Grimm. Liquid, IV-friendly, can be slipped into saline, all that kind of thing."

Then her endangerment, her protection by Renard through all those years made sense. If there was such an effective palliative for stress woges and panoges, even for the gemischtwesen, there would be far less fear involved in wesen mating and mingling with humans. Not something that the verrat would encourage. It was a brave thing that she'd spent her life working on. Little wonder she'd spent so much of it in hiding.

"Only gone for three weeks, right?" Nick repeated hopefully, not wanting them off his radar. He'd miss them.

"We will be back and holding a discreet winterfest before you know it," Hilde said. "Now, cake."

Nick thought he'd been successfully avoiding this moment thus far but took a big bite. It was rather dense. And savoury. And spicy. And fucking eyewateringly bad – in fact, eye-watering altogether. He started coughing and Warwick passed him water, all wide eyed and expectant and … Nick really really didn't want to make that eager-to-please face sad.

"How is it?" Warwick asked.

"Um…." Nick cleared his throat. "Peppery. Black pepper cake? A bit unusual…"

Hilde frowned at Warwick. "Black pepper cake? Warwick, go get that recipe, please."

Warwick shuffled off, grabbed the Mary Berry sponge book and returned, laying it out on his lap. Nick leant over his shoulder, following Hilde's finger down the list of ingredients. They came to 1 TBSP BP."

Hilde stared at Warwick flatly. "Well I shan't be trying my slice, silly boy."

"I've never baked before!"

"It's not to do with baking, it's to do with basic cake flavours! Did you not notice it failing to rise? That's 1 TBSP Baking Powder. Not black pepper! Call yourself a chemist?"

Nick sat back and giggled between splutters while they argued the dangers of acronyms in recipes versus the dangers of no common sense in the kitchen, but kept well away from the rest of the cake. He had a feeling that he'd be coughing until the middle of the afternoon, but didn't care. He'd miss Warwick on Christmas Eve for the dinner, but it was good to know that he was going somewhere great.

**X x X**

Jan stopped outside Renard's room for a moment, hearing the row going on inside between the Captain and the AC. Not even the closed door obscured it. Renard wasn't exactly shouting, but the stiffness in his voice was as close as he ever came to it. DeMarcos was his usual over-talking aggressive self. He caught the rear end of Renard's annoyance at a more subdued comment from DeMarcos: "He's a valuable operational officer, very hard to take down, very skilled in interrogation and I do not want to lose him from this precinct just because you can't handle a little talk-back!"

"Who said anything about losing him from the precinct?" DeMarcos yelled back, "I don't give a crap where he wants to base himself, but the simple fact is that I want him in that role so I'm going to put him in that role. Got that?"

"He'll see it as a punishment…" Renard went on, and Jan found himself standing back from the door slightly as the argument raged on in civil

"They make eavesdropping easy, don't they?" Remus said quietly from behind Jan, making him leap guiltily into the air. "The guy's an asshole, obviously, but Sean missed the point of what he was saying ten minutes ago and they've been shouting at cross purposes ever since."

"They arguing about Nick?" Jan asked.

"You."

Jan swallowed. "Probably time I knocked."

Remus nodded. "Do that."

"Excuse me Sirs," Jan rumbled as he walked in. "Who will see what as a punishment?"

DeMarcos stared at him flatly. "Were you listening out there?"

"There are probably a few patients trying _not_ to listen." Jan said, keeping his face even as DeMarcos directed one of his withering looks up at him.

"We've lost our Personnel Director, Vergeer. I'm looking to you to take over. Call it administrative secondment. A year, until we find someone to take it longer term."

"Lost her how?" Jan asked. She was a robust woman, unlikely to get lost anywhere or to be told to 'get lost'.

"She retired early. Renard was part of this decision of hers. She got more than a little tired of all the holes he was poking in the rules to accommodate Burkhardt's unusual methods of resolving cases, not to mention the damage done to his sick record. And then he told her he'd be returning to work two days after getting shot in the leg. By Burkhardt. Yeah – she took all that really, really well, so now I need a replacement."

"Administrative?" Jan repeated, feeling a little stunned. The Personnel Director post covered all four Multnomah County Western Precincts – it was effectively a Captaincy. He glanced over at Renard, wondering what the hell the problem was.

"I _have_ pressed home your operational value, Vergeer," Renard muttered.

"I don't mind not being operational for a while," Jan said, and could've laughed. "Office hours would suit me, actually, but …I'm not qualified."

"You are, actually," Remus said mildly. "Fifteen years' operational experience, five main areas, and you probably know all the rules better than the fools who wrote the damn textbooks."

"It's only half the role," DeMarcos said loudly, clearly wondering who the rogue Dutchman in the room was. "The other side is the establishment of the Special Constabulary."

Jan stared. "It's been approved?"

"Spoke to the Police commissioning board last night. It was pretty clear that they didn't have enough cops on the ground. We need a territorial supply of guys in these situations. So, you'll be recruiting, training, setting up, creating a trial divisional office – you name it."

Jan held his hands up. "Just tell me something, Sir. Yesterday you were playing head games with me for failing to spot one of my detectives collapsing in the squadroom. Explain this change of heart to the point of promotion?"

"It's not promotion, it's reinstatement. You were Captain at Interpol, no?"

"Yes, but… it seems strange that you would stick me in there as the Head of Personnel if you don't think I can even keep track of my own detectives."

"Ah well, you're blunt. You'll need to be blunt with my successor. It's good to see you can be."

Renard snorted. "You're now saying that was a test of willingness to stand up to you?"

"I'm retiring," DeMarcos announced cheerfully, ignoring them completely. "The Special Constabulary will be my legacy, and you guys will have to put up with Wilkes. Sorry about that, but I'm sure you're both more than up to the challenge – if you can work together."

Renard met Jan's eye and nodded. "You taking it?"

"Happy to, Sir."

"Stop with the 'Sir' then, Captain Vergeer."

"It'll take a while." Jan grinned. "What's wrong with Wilkes?"

"I'll say cause I'm going, but it stays in this room. He's a noisy, pedantic, sneaky jerk of a guy who can't do anything in a straightforward way."

"That'll be a culture shock for us all to overcome, Sir," Jan said gravely, trying to remain straightfaced with Remus clapping his hand over his mouth in the background, behind DeMarcos. Even Renard was slightly sheltering his lips with his forefinger.

"Good of you to say so. Right. You guys thrash out details – office position, office hours, bookcase numbers, all that shit. I'm off. I'll catch you on 27th. We'll iron out contract details."

DeMarcos left the room and Renard and Remus both released their breath in one go. Remus clapped him proudly on the shoulders and spoke like an ancient man. "I knew _one day_ your rudeness would come."

"Shut it, Remus." Jan chuckled. "Not that he noticed."

"I thought you were going to take that badly," Renard said mildly. "You've been a guy on the ground for years. You ready for all this… paperwork?"

Jan thought about getting home at a time that was reasonable, working from home, setting up the Special Constabulary, getting out and actually talking to people about Police work… and smiled broadly. "I think I can cope. You ok with this?"

Renard smiled. "Oh yes. Very. I never want another Grimm-injury discussion with anyone ever again. At least you, Vergeer, will 'get it'."

**And one last chapter to go!**


	17. Finale: Nativities and New Starts

**Ok… and here's the final chapter. Sniff sniff. Cookies and hugs to reviewers who are **_**gentle**_** with me, lol – you'll notice it took a little while longer to get this one up than usual. I hope you enjoy the finale. xxxxx**

Nick woke a split second before his six-am alarm went off. He sat up, took his anti-pheromones with a swig of water, and reset the alarm to seven, diving snugly back under the covers. He'd just reached that wonderful, drifty state of half-controlling a nice dream (involving a back rub from the never-left Juliette) when round twenty eight of the great Portland cat versus fox war kicked off outside, startling him out of his snooze.

"Oh no..." He squeezed his eyes shut and stuffed his head under the pillow, desperately trying to get back to the part where Juliette was having difficulty in distinguishing between 'back' and 'privates', but wakefulness was brutal. He opened his window and flung an ancient sneaker out into the communal yard, scattering the perps. He was seriously considering asking Jan to come have a word with some of those cats. And now he was properly awake. "Fuck-a-doodle-doo," he muttered.

Rather than sulk in bed, he chose to go sulk in the shower instead. He stepped into the hot spray and had a long, leisurely soak, trying to get the kinks out of his arms and shoulders. He'd made his last Presley case arrests yesterday: one of the Lowen kids who'd tried taking blood from him before throwing him into the storeroom had made the moronic decision to go back to campus to collect personals from his locker – on the morning he was still carrying out student and teacher interviews. Nick grinned, soaped up, and thought about the first moment he'd reaped benefits from his Grimm Mood announcement – as soon as the Lowen kid saw him, he'd bolted, and when Nick gave chase two of the sports coaches, both Balam, helped to corner and capture the guy to get him off their campus for good. A pretty neat result.

He rinsed off, towelled, slipped on boxers and went out to the kitchen to make coffee. Livvy was already up, hobbling round the kitchen in her dressing gown and white supportive boot and looking very bewildered.

"Hey, you alright? Sleep ok?"

"Yeah! Really nice comfortable bed." She fixed him with a little smile but looked wobbly. "

He leant her up against the kitchen counter. If she wasn't going to sit, at least she could stabilise herself. "Want coffee and breakfast?"

"You're making it?" This time he got a full-on grin and he saw a little white light appear round her.

"That was a white glow," he observed, snapping the kettle on. "What does that mean?"

"Don't know. The pink is new enough. Maybe white light means I'm out-of-proportion happy to have breakfast made for me." She tucked her hair into a ponytail using a band taken from her dressing gown pocket. "Thanks so much for moving all my stuff, by the way. It's really nice being completely out of Graham's place. I can relax a little more."

"Wasn't just me. Hank helped, and Denny." Nick grinned. "Carianne was on tie-sliming duty. I think she managed to spread a little sick over at least five silk ones. We didn't get all your clothes, though, so―"

"Rosalee and Monroe are helping with that this morning," Livvy said. "Really sweet of them. Really sweet of all of you."

Nick pinkened slightly. "It's alright. You want scrambled eggs?"

"My favourite."

He got out a mixing bowl and spatula, pan, eggs and butter – then remembered he hadn't brought the milk in yet. He nipped out to grab it and was almost cut in half by an arctic blast barrelling its way down the front veranda of his first floor apartment. It smacked him into the brick wall of his kitchen, making him yell. How did it get so cold since yesterday? He reached for the milk and noticed bare arm. And bare legs. He'd forgotten to get dressed? When did that ever happen? He leapt back indoors with the solid carton, stuck it in the sink with hot water and ran off to his room to pull on his thermal, a shirt and jeans. He marched back to the kitchen in a bit of a huff.

"Why didn't you tell me I wasn't wearing anything?"

She looked puzzled. "I thought you knew."

"Weren't you planning on asking me when I was going to get dressed?"

"No, why would I? Your apartment, your rules! If you turn out to be a nearly-nudist, that's your prerogative."

"I'm not a nearly-nudist!"

"Whatever you say." She beamed cheekily at him. "It was quite scenic while it lasted."

"Hmph." He mixed the eggs and stuck the bread in the toaster and then Livvy's cellphone rang. He looked around in case he needed to grab it for her, but she pulled it out of her dressing gown after a few rings, looking unenthused as she put it on speakerphone so she could lay her head on her forearms.

"Hey, mom…"

"Hey, I've finished term now, we're coming down to see you. You alright, honey? Your dad mentioned you got shot."

Nick stared at the phone. Wow. Casual. Jan had mentioned she'd been shot. As had he. At least twice. This couldn't be her Mom's first call-in after the shooting, could it?

"I'm better," Livvy muttered. "You guys have got a hotel, right? For Boxing Day? Don't forget I'm not at Graham's anymore."

"About time," Dr Andersen said. "I wondered how long you were going to go staying in that apartment. I was beginning to think you had post-breakup denial problems."

"Actually, I had no-deposit-for-new-flat problems," Livvy muttered, bringing her face up from her forearms.

"We could've lent you that if you'd occasionally ask for help. I'd have been happy to help you escape from Graham." The strident tones softened slightly. "I'm sorry he turned out to be such a bad guy, Livvy. None of us really saw that coming."

Livvy straightened up. "Well, I'm glad I wasn't the only one."

"You escaped a total moron, darling," Dr Andersen went on. "What kind of idiot tries to scam a cop?"

"Thanks mom, but I really don't need my self-esteem lowered any further…"

"I mean, trying to charm you into a pre-nup? You should have gone screaming for the hills as soon as it was mentioned!"

"I didn't sign anything," Livvy muttered, "And I told him that I wasn't signing anything that looked like a symbol of a future break-up. So I'm not that much of an idiot."

"You at a hotel now, honey? Can you afford it?"

"No, I'm being looked after." Livvy glared sternly at the phone. "I'm fine."

Good for you, thought Nick, splashing the egg in the pan. He kept a half-eye out for glowing while he mixed, but there was nothing there. Livvy just looked tired while she talked to her mom, like this kind of conversation was so typical it was nothing to get upset about. He finished making the coffee while waiting for the eggs to set.

"Well, who's looking after you?" Livvy's mom sounded so incredulous that anyone would want to that Nick lost his grip on the spatula, nearly caught it twice on its way to the floor – and failed – then on standing knocked his elbow against the mixing bowl and sent that crashing to the floor instead. It was pyrex, at least, and rolled away spilling egg rather than smashing.

"You alright, honey? Break something?"

"No, that was Nick," Livvy said.

There was a long quiet at the other end of the line. "Nick-the-Grimm?"

"Yeah, Nick-the-Grimm."

"You're with Nick at seven in the morning? Oh my God! You're with Nick at seven in the morning! Are you sleeping with him?"

Dr Andersen sounded so shrill that Nick couldn't help himself. He dipped his voice into a low, post-coital growl, put the mug down in front of Livvy with a slight bang and muttered "Your coffee, honey," followed by a noisy fake smooch. Livvy bit back a laugh and ruffled his hair.

"I'm just moved in with him."

"YOU'VE MOVED IN WITH A GRIMM?"

"He's looking after me! Remember that thing where one person feels a little fragile, and another person – usually someone related – goes 'hey, I'll look after you', and you feel a little bit better? Well, that's what he's doing."

"He's dangerous." The voice went stern at the other end of the line. "I've treated a Grimm. He had all the sexual and social charm of a bin lid but I still wanted to sleep with him. Babies might have been had. Then he started controlling what I was thinking. _He _seemed a nice guy to begin with, but they change when they realise what they can do. Get away from Nick."

"No!" Livvy folded her arms rebelliously. "Mom, he knows about the pheromone thing and he's taking something for it. And it turns out that everything we thought we knew about Grimms is bull, so I'm taking the mind-control rubbish with a pinch of salt. Be nice or you can cancel your plane tickets to Portland. I mean it."

There was another long, long pause. "Livvy, I love you. I'm telling you this stuff because I care about you. What's happened to you? You used to take advice rather more placidly than this."

Livvy met his eyes steadily for a moment, then turned back to the phone. "I love you too, mom, but I've got a different idea now of what caring behaviour actually looks like. Maybe I've just raised my standards a little." Her voice softened a little. "Call me back if you still want to come down for Boxing Day."

Nick put her breakfast in front of her. "I'm glad your standards of being 'cared for' are up a bit. Jesus. Is she always that… warm and maternal?"

"No, sometimes she's rude too," Livvy said and tucked into the eggs at a speed that suggested that she hadn't found the conversation as traumatic to take part in as he had to listen to. "You're a good cook!"

"Thanks." He knew well enough by now what a conversational avoidance looked like and shrugged it off. In some ways, it was a shame Denny was gay – he and Livvy were like peas in a pod, got on like a house on fire, and in a parallel universe, he'd probably be hearing wedding bells. But hey. Speaking of Denny… "Den's swinging by later to pick you up for the nativity. I've got more interviews to run on campus before going to the precinct… you going to be alright till Rosalee gets here?"

She nodded enthusiastically through a mouthful of breakfast and he went to get ready. A few minutes later he was out of the apartment, in his car and back to the wreck that was Portland Science and Sport, Dr Andersen's remark about 'mind control' still jangling uncomfortably round his head. Eventually he shoved it to one side and dismissed it as him being spooked. He was lucky to talk Monroe into putting jalapeños on one half of a pizza. There didn't seem any immediate danger of him forcing people into doing things against their will. Particularly not the big guys. And actually… Nick considered the wilfulness of Theo and Carianne. Not much evidence of him getting them to do what he wanted them to do, either. He chuckled and stuck his radio on as he pulled out on the freeway.

**X x X**

Jan parked his Spyder a couple of blocks down from the precinct, pulled on baseball cap and sunglasses and zipped up his second coat against the evil wind, muttering dire curses against the fool that had allowed both underground carparks to be under renovation at the same time. He did not 'do' the cold. Most Koningleeuwen didn't: unlike most of his kin, he had no murderous urges or taste for blood, but there was one biological imperative he couldn't ignore, which was to maintain his 40° resting body temperature. He liked snow and winter in theory, so long as he was inside and could just look out at it, but in practice, cold was like his kryptonite. He threaded his way quickly through the human traffic as he headed for work, chin down and hands stuffed in his pockets. There seemed to be a lot more people hanging around the precinct than usual. Mostly female. Mostly loitering. Some of whom thought they'd recognised him from his new entry on the Cops-we'd-like-to-**** website after he'd abandoned half his clothes to strap Livvy's leg up, but most of whom appeared to be lurking in the hope of spotting the Grimm.

He picked up speed without crashing into anyone. He was late enough as it was, having let Denny sleep off his hangover and driven Theo to nursery himself. Jan smiled a little, mentally replaying Denny's speechless moment of relieved joy, face in hands, as Remus confirmed his theory about why the abuse charge had never appeared on Interpol's record of outstanding charges. Seamus West had given a statement, in the end - one that cleared him of any suspicion of abuse. James Grey was still wanted for questioning in relation to the death of Seamus' father and his fellow Schakal, Hendry, but given the amount of his own gore found close to the crime scene, was flagged 'likely deceased'. With Theo asleep, Carianne at Rosalee and Monroe's place (so they could do tiny-person practice) and his mother packing up at the hotel, Denny had seized the moment of zero responsibilities to inhale two quarts of beer in under five minutes.

Denny was out of alcohol practice, though. He'd come over all oafish and giggly, fallen over, then had to be put to bed for the second time in a few days - only this time in an uncoordinated, affectionate heap. Jan chuckled as he reached the steps of PPD and strode up and through to the fire escape, where he took the stairs three at a time. His ears continued to suffer, slightly: no matter how dominant Den's human side was, he still burped like a Siegbarste.

He strode into the squad room and past Hank, who was back at his desk in front of a lap-top, chuckling darkly alongside Wu while they fiddled with some kind of software programme. No Nick, yet. Jan groped in his pockets for Renard's office keys and separated them with difficulty from his own, watching as Tom took advantage of Nick's absence to clean his desk up. Gerry Hanna strode in for a quick word with Wu, looked at the laptop screen and laughed, then reached over to Nick's desk for a spare scrap of paper and a pen.

"HIS!" Tom barked, pointing at Burkhardt's name plate on the desk.

Hanna snapped immediately upright, backing hurriedly away behind Hank and Wu. "Hey, I'm just borrowing, fella!"

"Didn't ask," Tom muttered. "Ask Nick's partner. It's also almost his desk."

To Hank's credit, he kept a completely straight face as Hanna, red-faced, asked him if he could borrow paper and pen. Jan grinned as Hank agreed with exaggerated grace and handed over the stationery, making Tom grunt with satisfaction. As he let himself into Renard's office, he wasn't surprised to be followed a moment later by Gerry, who darted in behind him, still a little startled.

"Where did you _get_ him?" he muttered, closing the door behind him.

Jan hung up his coat and booted up the PC. "I set up an interview with the facilities manager, which he clearly aced. He was working at Portland State but some of the students there..."

"Not too nice to him?" Gerry hazarded.

"Nastier than I care to say," Jan muttered - then remembered he was supposed to be translating Tom's contract into Plain English this morning so that he could get his head around his terms and conditions. He might have to make a less protective attitude towards Nick's possessions part of those conditions. "Still, he seems happy enough here. Anyway, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit from the Mayor's office?"

"Couple of things. First, Miller's form for the EMT riot team. I spoke to him briefly about it, so he'll be expecting it." Hanna handed over an application booklet. "We had a hostage situation at West Side yesterday that would've gone a whole lot better if we could have gotten some paramedics into the bank."

Jan took the outstretched form from Gerry's hand. "Thanks, I'll pass that on. Shall I give him your number again? He's posted his work phone back to the mayor's office already."

"Yeah, full of baby milk. Nice touch." Hanna snickered, but then sobered quickly. "And… the other thing. How's Andersen? I heard she took a hell of a hit."

"Doing much better. Still pretty fragile, but out of hospital as of last night. Shall I pass on your regards?" Jan was pleasantly surprised by Gerry's change of attitude and stopped glancing at his inbox to pay the conversation better attention, however much he wanted to open that little envelope from the exam centre.

"I was wondering... should I just call her? I wouldn't blame her if she refused to take the call, but―"

"She'd appreciate that," Jan said. "She's not one of this life's grudge-holders. I think she had a pretty good idea that you weren't 'yourself'."

"That was part of the problem," Gerry muttered, shuffling his feet. "She had such a scary grasp of what was going on with the whole wife-timeshare guy situation that I convinced myself that the whole squad knew about it. Well, ok, the whole squad _did_ know about it, but it took a while to work out that it wasn't coming from her. Marriage problems can mess with a guy's head. I gave her shit I didn't even know I had to give."

"Just tell her exactly what you've told me, and you'll be fine. That said, Gerry," Jan leant over the desk, "If you _ever_ treat another officer the way you treated her, I'll get you blacklisted from your golfing club, among other dire, more formal sanctions."

"Harsh!" Gerry laughed, but nodded seriously. "There won't be a repeat. By the way, congratulations, Captain."

Jan winced. That was supposed to be a secret. "Thank you. It's Director, though. Renard's Captain. How did you know, by the way?"

"DeMarcos. He's got a big mouth."

"Do me a favour, Gerry? Keep that under your hat for now. I don't start til the New Year, and not everyone's going to be happy about this."

As Gerry shrugged and let himself out, Jan hurriedly double-clicked the email from the exam centre, desperate for good news, not that he was expecting anything else. If Griffin got his Lieutenancy, it wouldn't matter too much if his own reinstatement was announced this week. If not… Jan grimaced. He'd rather not be at the centre of a salt-in-the-wound situation.

Magic words flashed up on the screen, making him grin broadly and punch the air. Whistling, he tucked the confirmation letter and results into an envelope, stuck it on the desk, and trotted out to the squad room.

: : : : :

Hank felt his cell buzz and checked his message. From Nick: "Nearly finished with flirty mouse hurts students. In soon. N"

Wu snickered over his shoulder. "That's a great autocorrect moment. I'd love to see that as a headline - flirty mouse hurts students."

"Hey man, privacy!" Hank tried sheltering his cell as Nick's amendment came through ('Maushertz, dammit!') but Wu knew how to lean. And snigger.

"Ok, that made even less sense. Can't wait for the next one!"

"You just get on with burning that DVD." Hank slid his seat sideways to keep his reply discreet, while giving Wu room to use the laptop. "Enjoy flirty mice. Btw, we need to talk about telling Wu. He saw your Maushertz message, already knows about Jan, is going to work out that it's not just Lion Kings you can see. So...?"

There was a short pause then a returning buzz. "Ok. New Year, New Wu."

"Deal," Hank texted back, and grinned at the laptop screen as Wu started the mini-movie from the DVD rather than the hard drive to check it had copied across ok. They watched the whole first minute of it out of pride rather than quality control, then Hank leapt guiltily in his seat as Jan's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Can I have a word?"

"Uh, yeah… look, this thing's nearly all been done outside working hours, we're just finishing up―"

Jan chuckled. "It looks like hours well-spent. John, you'll have to finish up alone, I'm afraid. This won't take long, Hank."

Hank followed Jan into Renard's office and shut the door, sticking his hands into his pockets. "Just a little fun, man."

"I think Nick might actually kill you, but that's your risk to take. No, this is about something else."

Hank swallowed hard as he took the envelope Jan handed him. "Are these my...?"

"Yes. New departmental policy. We do not keep people waiting over the holidays for important news."

He hadn't realised how important this was to him until his fingers were shaking too hard to open the envelope flap. What if his results stank? Or, what if, after all that effort he actually got the promotion but couldn't handle it? As much as he wanted to stretch his wings (and get paid more), the idea of maybe having to manage Nick made him shudder. He'd seen the effects of being caught in the middle: Jan was back to himself, now, but the stress effect while he'd been seconding for Renard had been very visible.

Hank bit his lip as he turned the envelope over in his hands, feeling his knee juddering. "You know, it sounds nuts, but I'm kinda scared of what's in here, either way. Could you…ah…throw me a bone, here? Are you allowed?"

"Ok. Let's just say that it's my personal policy not to give good friends shitty news on Christmas Eve."

The confirmation hit Hank like a hammer to the chest and for a moment he couldn't breathe past the hitch in his throat as Jan's words and smile dawned on him. "You mean I've actually..."

"You passed everything. Congratulations, Lieutenant Griffin."

"Whooot!" he managed, breathlessly. For a moment, all management panics fell to one side and he nearly shot out into the squad room screaming 'I'm the man!' but he really wanted Nick there for that moment. But he couldn't stay still. He wanted to leap up and down and run around and jump on Renard's desk and wave his arms. Jan put his hand out for a shake but Hank dived into a slam-hug instead, then in a fit of excitement and over-enthusiasm tried lifting him off the floor, failing to achieve an inch of movement and setting his back on fire in the process.

"Hot DAMN!" he yelped, though still laughing helplessly with happiness. Fuck, that hurt. But hey he was promoted and didn't care. He straightened manfully and felt his eyes cross. No, that _really_ did hurt...

"You alright?" Jan asked, easing him into one of the chairs. Hank could only clutch and groan for a moment until he got his breath back.

"You are insanely heavy! What did you eat for breakfast, man? Grilled lead on toast? "

Jan shrugged. "Tastes great with peanut sauce. Seriously - you ok? We're not going to have to cart you off to get a shot, are we?"

"Naw… let's just…. give it a minute…"

The screaming pain down Hank's left side abated a little and he finally got enough feeling in his hands back to open the damn envelope, read and re-read those golden words LIEUTENANT GRIFFIN several times, moisture building in his eyes. Ok, so the words in the terms and conditions document weren't quite as golden as in the covering letter, but one thing at a time... "When can I tell people?"

"You can put a tannoy round the building right now, if you like."

"No, I want to wait for Nick." Hank grinned wickedly. And he wanted to adjust his name in the closing credits on Nick's little Xmas present before they showed it to him. "Damn, can't believe I actually made it."

"I can believe it," Jan said, wandering over to the window. "You studied hard enough for the personnel stuff - the rest of your marks were a reflection of how overdue the promotion was in the first place. Really outstanding results. Renard will be pleased."

"It's gonna get complicated though," Hank reflected. "I mean, how am I going to explain some of Nick's weirder leads to him? These days, the evidence kind of follows the instinct, rather than the other way round."

Jan turned slightly from the window and Hank was relieved to see him looking reasonably relaxed. He was 'choosing his words' again, but not with that slightly tense air he'd worn lately. "You, Nick and I have to have a long talk about Renard. Soon. But if it helps, you won't be managing Nick - Renard's shaking up the squad room a little."

Relief billowed through Hank like a warm wind and he felt decent enough to creak out of the chair and join Jan at the window. "A lot's going to change, isn't it? After Nick's little Grimm announcement."

"Which you countered in a monumentally unhelpful way," Jan remarked, jerking his head down to the pavement outside the precinct. "Observe."

Hank followed his gaze and chuckled. Nick had arrived and was feeding coins into the parking meter with one hand while struggling for pocket change with the other. He was surrounded from behind by a meek-looking group of girls, all fumbling to see if they had change to offer him. "Oh man... are his Grimmstincts on strike? How could he _not_ know they're there?"

"Seelengut," Jan observed. "If he's picked up on them, he's probably not reading danger signals. They _might_ leave him alone. Herd mentality. They're all waiting for each other to approach."

"Oh... here we go..."

Hank and Jan watched as one girl broke off from the group and offered Nick a quarter, which he took with a polite, wary smile and fed it into the meter. Nick had barely let the coin go in the slot when the girl lunged and Hank snickered helplessly as Nick tried reverse-wrestling out of a full-on kiss. "No herd mentality in _that_ girl. You know... I don't think he's enjoying that very much."

"Hmmmm." Jan chuckled. "The wild, flailing arms do give the slight impression of reluctance. Hopefully he'll get out of there before... ah, he's sprinting inside. Sensible Grimm. Perhaps some of the loiterers will clear off, now."

Hank laughed, but Jan looked a little pained.

"You really didn't help things with your riposte to the press, you know."

"Hey look – I had paparazzi in my face on the way to my exams 'cause of him. I felt the need to get a little vengeance. It'll blow over."

"I'm not talking about the 'lonely and misunderstood' announcement. That's been quite entertaining, as it happens. I'm more concerned that by sending out a loaded hint that you understand Nick's 'Grimm message', you've effectively outed yourself as one of the mensen wie wezen zagen."

"Say what?"

"The-humans-who-have-seen-the-wesen."

Hank tried to remember what Monroe had called him. "I thought that was Ker-site-slick-kenner, or whatever?"

"It probably is, in German. But I'm not German, am I? Anyway, just do me one favour, Hank? If you even get a _hint_ of someone with a darker interest in you or Nick, let me know. The Verrat presence in Portland is a little thicker on the ground than we first thought."

"Will do." Hank went back out to the squad room, a chill briefly going down his spine, but the moment of nerves was washed away by a warlike flood of adrenaline. If the Verrat thought they could mess with his squad room, they had another thing coming.

**X x X**

Nick slammed the back door of the precinct fire exit behind him and took the stairs three at a time, his heart pounding. At the top of the stairwell, he pulled his cell out to call Monroe but got his answering machine and very specific message.

"Nick, Rosalee's having contractions. Please leave your odd and demanding request after the tone. I may or may not reply in the next few hours depending on how odd and demanding the contractions are."

Nick sucked in breath. "Uh... Eddie... I'm having slight…. physical issues. May need to up... anti-pheromone dose. Temporarily. Can we talk? Hope Rosie's ok. Thanks, Nick."

Rather than stumbling into the squad room looking bedraggled, he dived into the locker room first to straighten up, throw water over his face and tidy his hair up a little. His shoulders slowly un-tensed and eventually he looked a lot more casual. He'd be damned if he'd let Hank see that his little Portland Cupid stunt was getting to him. The teeny-weeny Maushertz student tripping and 'landing' in his lap was bad enough, but getting a sudden faceful of single-minded sheep was on a totally different scale of traumatising. He hadn't been that alarmed since Ariel 'bunny-boiler' Eberhart ripped his shirt open in her back yard.

Taking a deep breath, he wiggled the tension out of his arms and flicked a relaxed smile on as he trotted to his desk and booted up. There didn't seem to be much point in getting into any heavy work – they'd be leaving for the nativity in a couple of hours anyway, but he still had a few witness statements from the college to type into the incident report. Hank beamed suspiciously at him as he waited for his mail programme to open up. Nick glanced over, waiting for Hank to explain the beam, but he just grinned some more. It was unnerving.

"You alright?" Nick asked eventually.

"I'm good man, really good."

Nick waited for him to expand on this, but when he didn't, he settled for "Uh… good," and got on with hammering the rest of the statements into the reporting system. It took him nearly a couple of hours and he'd nearly reached the end when he was distracted by the loud squeaking of wheels as Wu pushed the 42-inch TV out from the IGROPE room into the main squad area.

"Donut?" Hank suddenly offered, shoving a box under his nose and still beaming.

"Thanks," Nick said absently, grabbing a chocolate glaze one with a hole in the middle. He didn't like the look of that TV. Wide-screen presentations usually meant huge maps, which usually meant person missing, which meant a small child disappearing just before Christmas. God, he hoped not. He cast a glance back through Renard's office window, reasonably reassured to see Jan looking fairly relaxed behind the PC and not like a guy about to drop a Special Victims bomb in the room.

Then he noticed Wu sniggering. Ok. So, nothing _nasty_ was happening, but… his Grimmstincts picked up on heavy localised smirking and he looked over to see Hank beaming more broadly than ever.

"Hank. What's going on?"

"Brother, you're just twitchy."

"I am not!"

"Are so," Hank argued quietly, and zoomed his seat over sideways to drop his voice further. "But I so can't blame you. Who'd not be sheepish after a Seelengut attack?"

Nick felt his face go hot. "Funny."

"Oh it was man, it _was_…" Hank chuckled ruthlessly as he slid back behind his desk, letting him focus on finishing the Presley notes.

It only took another ten minutes of so to finish them off and Nick stretched back in his seat, glad to see the rear end of the case. He printed out his notes to give to Renard when he got in, and good-naturedly moved out of Tom's way as the young Siegbarste vacuumed around and under his and Hank's desks. Nick took a big bite of donut and popped it back down on his desk so he didn't get icing all over his report. Tom stared at the new mess in a slightly distressed way.

Nick glanced at him. "You alright, Tom?"

"Gotta tidy that."

"Uh, it's just crumbs, I can do that, but… o-k…" Nick felt himself moved firmly to one side.

Tom pulled a mini-vac from a deep pocket – the kind used to clean keyboards, and sucked the crumbs up from round the donut. And then focussed with intense concentration down the middle of the donut. Nick blinked. The guy took cleaning _seriously._

"There might be some more crumbs underneath," Hank warned, and lifted the donut like it was a particularly dangerous bomb, allowing Tom to clean to his heart's content before laying it down carefully so as not to wreak any further crumbly havoc on the impeccable tabletop. Nick watched the delicate operation in complete disbelief.

"All clean," Tom reported, and dragged his vacuum off towards Renard's office.

"Thanks Tom," Nick said as Tom retreated, but met Hank's eyes somewhat desperately, dropping his voice to a whisper. "What am I going to do about him?"

"I'd buy a plate, if I were you."

Great, really sympathetic. Nick laughed though, as Hank told him about Tom's earlier fierce protection of his stationery. He was just unwinding as Wu plugged in the 42-inch TV and someone else snapped all the lights off. Jan came out of Renard's office and grabbed a seat next to them, sitting back to front on the wheely chair. Nick was confused. Ok, so if Jan had stuck himself in the audience rather than stand in front of the TV, this wasn't some kind of leadership message video either…

Hank patted his arm. "Sit and relax, man, sit and relax..."

This was enough to make him instantly paranoid, and with good cause. The screen and inserted DVD communed and the 'Rocky' theme tune thumped through the office. In the middle of the black screen, huge gold 3D-effect letters floated and rearranged themselves to read:

_"The many grim moods of Detective N Burkhardt."_

Nick gulped. Oh, crap.

He tried reversing discreetly in his seat, but Jan recaptured him with a quick sideways grab, pulling him irrevocably back to the desk. He and Hank grabbed a wrist each so he couldn't even hide in his palms.

For a whole three minutes, his face burned and flamed with embarrassment as a montage of still shots of him flipping out popped up on screen and dispersed in a cloud of digital magic to the background of increasingly raucous laughter. Between them, Hank and Wu had brought together footage of him losing his cool from all over the place. Not just i-video downloads from the fight-stop student webpages, but also cake-slamming screenshots from Starbucks, Graham-relocation footage from hospital CCTV (with said villain flying eight feet into the shrubs in slow motion) and worst of all, from inside interrogation 2, where 'Nasty Nick' had gone head-to-head with 'Livid Livvy' in a furious stand-up row. This last part made him feel crawling under the desk. He looked _mad! _There was no sound, but the video had been sped up six times to make it look like they were both cartoon characters on speed, jumping up and down and waving their arms around.

Nick met Hank's eye in the darkness and gave him the kind of look he usually saved for his partner's wisecracks about his tinsy-winsy legs. Hank winked remorselessly at him and ruffled his hair with his free hand. Jan and Hank didn't let him go until the last still shot had faded from the screen, to be replaced by the closing credits. The lights finally came up and he was allowed to hide his purple face in his hands as all the guys in the squad room laughed, clapped and…

…and clapped even more thunderously.

Nick stared at the screen, leapt to his feet and joined in. Everyone noticed the important detail in the movie credits in the same moment. The movie director was none other than LIEUTENANT Hank Griffin.

He grinned, turned to Hank then flung himself at his partner with a bear hug. "You're the man!"

"I'M THE MAN!"

"You did it!" Nick saw Hank's eyes shining and all the dire revenges he'd started to plot for that little movie went out of the window. "Oh that's SO great. Really, that's…" his eyes got a little moist. "Ok, you can see _I'm_ happy about it, how're you feeling?"

"Kinda stunned," Hank admitted, as the other guys finished clapping him on the back and fading off back to their desks. "But it's all good. A little hard to pin my brain down right now, to tell you the truth."

Nick suddenly felt a little misty on Hank's behalf. "You're staying at PPD at least, right?"

"He is," Renard said suddenly from behind them, propped up on crutches. "I've lost Jan to Personnel, so I need Lieutenant right here where I can terrorise by proxy." With difficulty, he freed a hand from a crutch and extended it. "Congratulations, Hank. And I need to borrow you both. We need to talk."

"Now?" Nick asked doubtfully. He wanted the good moment to go on a little longer. And what did he mean by 'lost Jan to Personnel?'

"Roof," Renard said urgently. "Now." He looked around. "Where's Remus?"

Nick volunteered to go track him down in the men's room and bring him up to the roof while Hank filed into the elevator after Renard and Jan, looking bemused. As it happened, Nick didn't need to go as far as the men's washroom because Remus sprang out into the corridor in a panic, hastily zipping up.

"What's up?"

"Siegbarste in the bathroom. Wasn't expecting that."

Nick grinned. "Were all the urinals HIS?"

"Well, he let me 'go', thank God, but I'm warning you ― aim straight or he'll woge at you. Which is a little counter-productive, actually, because a mid-stream fright is not a tidy thing. Where are we going, by the way?"

"Rooftop discussion, apparently."

"In this weather? I don't think so." Remus stalked over to Renard and pulled him mildly round the corner, to Nick's astonishment. No one handled the Captain. Hell, _he_ hadn't even handled the Captain – he'd taken his rage out on a football stand. Remus looked serious. "Sean, I hear talk of rooftop meetings."

"We have discreet matters to discuss," Renard muttered. "You, me, Jan, Nick and Hank."

"Count Jan out then," Remus said. "This is not the tallest building in Portland and Armani-clad lions on the roof may excite a little interest from people drinking coffee while looking out the window. Cold weather and Koningleeuwen do not mix. It's an instant-woge recipe."

Hank caught Nick's eye and stared. Nick was beginning to wonder whether this was Remus' own little way of enforcing openness in Renard – 'fake blurting'. He was the head of the Lauffer, apparently, which should usually involve a degree of discretion. For all Remus' joviality, though, there was a hardness in his face that suggested that he was operating on tactics, not clumsiness.

What Nick found comforting, however, was Renard's response – he looked more annoyed about being pre-empted than angry: so maybe this whole discussion _was_ about him telling Hank that he was wesen too. Taking the responsibility off him. Nick appreciated that. He held Hank's gaze and mouthed: '_Renard knows about Jan. He's wesen too.'_

Hank stared, then his brow cleared. It was like he was relieved, almost. "How about the basement? It's out of commission. It'll be quiet down there."

Renard nodded and they all crammed themselves into the lift.

"How about a meeting room?" Remus muttered to himself, pressing the down button. "Roofs, basements…Why bother having any furniture _in_ this building? For fuck's sake…"

"How's the seasonal affective disorder?" Jan asked his old boss suddenly. "Lightbox help?"

"It makes a good difference, thank you. But the temper… my God! I'm not the laid-back bear I used to be. Can't wait for spring."

Hank blinked. "Jagerbar, right?"

"You're a well-informed Man-wie-wezen-zagen."

"I'm a human who's seen a few of the wesen, by now," Hank said, making Nick stare at his understanding of the term. "A certain friendly Grimm's been helping out with that."

"I'm glad you know," Renard said suddenly.

"And what are you, man?"

Nick, Jan and Remus held their breath as a trio as Renard met Hank's eyes. "Half Hexenbiest."

"Right." Hank scratched the back of his head and they walked out into the basement when the lift thumped to a halt. He paced for a moment. "Given certain blondes I dated, I can understand why you wouldn't drop that into conversation. But w-w-wait… you're a guy!"

Renard nodded. "I'm glad you've noticed."

"How can you be a witch? You're a guy."

"My mother was a witch. Look, you're taking this suspiciously well―"

"I have so many questions they don't even know how to form a queue, right now." Hank flipped his hands up helplessly. "You know what? I'm even fricking pleased. I was worried about how I'd work with you with the wesen cases we get, so… yeah. Relief first, curiosity second – but I need to know a couple of things before I turn my brain off for a few days."

Nick watched Renard adjust himself on his crutches.

"Go on."

"Did you know Adalind?"

"Yes. And Elizabeth Schade, too. Not my finest acquaintances. That's a talk we need to have when you've gotten to know me. Again."

"How long have you known about Nick being a Grimm?"

"Since his aunt died." Nick noticed Renard's slight flush under Hank's penetrating glare. "Nick's had to do more than a few things as a Grimm that don't sit well with his role as a cop. Acknowledging any of them would've been awkward. As your Captain."

To Nick's monumental relief, Hank nodded understanding. "Like arranging Stark's shooting."

"And throwing the Nuckelavee Hargrund into the Colombian River. And allowing a suspect in a murder investigation to flee."

"Ian Harmon," Hank muttered, remembering. "So you know all this. You been watching Nick's back?"

"As far as possible. It's going to get messy – so you need to be onboard."

"I can deal with mess so long as I can see what I'm dealing with," Hank murmured, then fixed Nick with a searching look. "How long have you known about him?"

Nick tensed slightly. "Four days."

"Right answer – I wouldn't have wanted to know about this in the last four days. Actually, I don't want to know any more about this right now. My curiosity is sated, I just got promoted, I'm ready to enjoy Christmas Eve. So if you gentlemen don't mind, I'm just going to go back upstairs, and…"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the screeching of wheels as a car burst through the closed-off ramp at the front of carpark B and a black SUV thundered down towards them, causing Renard and Remus to bring weapons out. Jan slapped them down as the driver did a handbrake turn to the right and slammed to a halt further up the slope.

"Relax, it's Denny."

Nick and Hank frowned. "What's he doing parking down here? The carpark's closed!"

"It's Denny!" Jan repeated, by way of explanation, and walked over to the car door to let Helene out as Monroe semi-collapsed from the shotgun seat, looking terrorised. "There were cones at the top of that ramp, Den."

"I was very, very careful to run over all of them," Den muttered. "If you think I'm walking half a mile with these sodding costumes with Carianne on my front, you've got another thing coming." He handed the outfits out – six heavy items on coathangers, disguised with covers – and handed Carianne to Jan. Theo hopped out of the car from behind and grabbed Nick and Hank's hands cheerfully. They performed the expected worship of the threads of the day – dark green shirt, black waistjacket and tie. Talk about Jan's mini-me. Nick frowned at the now-empty SUV.

"Where's Livvy?"

Monroe was just about ready to speak, having recovered from the drive. "She'll meet us at the lodge with Rosalee. She went to the clinic with Rosie after her nutsy contractions, but it was all a false alarm, could still be another day, ten minutes, two weeks… blah blah."

Nick pulled a face. "She alright? What caused the contractions?"

"Nuts, Nick! They're not called nutsy contractions for nothing, you know. She's not supposed to eat them… stubborn woman…"

They made their way back up to the squad room en masse, Renard and Remus included. Theo was interrogating Renard about his crutches and what he did to his leg. Remus, otherwise occupied, had gone a little dopey, Nick noted. He was staring directly at Helene, generally leaning and looming in her general direction while Denny stared after him suspiciously, his arms full of outfits, his eyes full of Siegbarste possessiveness. Nick chuckled as he brought up the rear with the other half the outfits, wondering what hero had been assigned to him, and hoping that Denny had a sense of humour about Remus' notion of flirting…

**X x X**

"Are you all packed?"

Warwick turned at Hilde's voice and smiled as he stuffed the last of his Nick-esque clothes into the case. "Yeah. Nice gear! Where did you get it all?"

She beamed. "I had a shopping spree at Sean's expense."

"Sean?"

"Nick's Police Captain. Only we go way back." She smiled slightly. "I don't know what has happened to him, but he has changed, it is very nice. He has given me the most wonderful gift."

"His credit card?"

"You. _You_ are his gift to me. I never expected to have a family." She looked watery-eyed and nipped out to the front room before they could spill over. Warwick followed in a hurry.

"Hilde? Are you ok?"

She ruffled his hair and wiped her face off. "More than ok. Now. Enough hippo-sniffling from me. You have everything? Your passport? Your sick sack?"

He cringed slightly and pinkened. "Yes and yes."

"Excellent. Let us get a plane and annoy some stewardesses with fictitious peanut addictions. Oh – before we leave… your Siegbarste-Denny dropped this off earlier."

Warwick took the large paper-wrapped bundle and opened it slowly. There was a long-sleeved black thermal top, like Nick's, with 'Dude's got feathers' written on the back – his name on the front. He grinned. There was a card under the top, written in Den's very recognisable nib-through-the-paper writing style. _Welcome to the United Federation of Rare Species. The link below will take you to your email address on our exchange server. Password is temporary. Looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks. By the way – I'm becoming a paramedic. Swap medic lessons for driving ones? Have a good flight, D xxx ps – will email you video of Theo's nativity. Thanks for helping him learn the lines!_

Warwick opened the case he'd just zipped up and put the top and card in there. Then he closed up and wheeled the case out, after Hilde, looking forward to their trip hugely. And looking forward to the nativity pictures. He and Denny had spent an hour or so running him through his lines while Nick was sleeping. A fiendish part of him hoped that Theo remembered the lines from their first practice run-through to help him with his nerves. _That _video, he'd pay to see.

**X x X**

"Wow, this is tight," Denny muttered, and pulled the chainmail-effect sleeves up his arms. "When are costume makers going to learn that tall blokes aren't necessarily lanky?"

Nick grinned and pulled on the red-and-yellow front and backplates of his outfit. "When pigs can fly. Sorry, Denny. Cool outfit, by the way!"

"Thor approve of re-booted movie costume," Denny boomed, pulling on the breast-plate armour. "Cloak swish nicely. Sleeves cover arms. Sleeves prevent awkward scar discussions about old Thor Wars."

"Sure you haven't been drinking, yet?"

"I'll drink when it's all over, mate." Denny shuddered. "I've got a horrible feeling that this is all going to go wildly off-script." He took a look at his watch, which would probably have to come off if he wasn't going to look completely anachronistic, stuffed his feet in his boots and leapt to his feet. "Right, you ready?"

Nick 'Iron man' Burkhardt pulled his helmet over his head and trotted out of the locker room after him. "Coming!"

The last of the other guys in the squad room were leaving on their half day, grinning at the costumed idiots swanning around the homicide department. Wu made to follow them, but Nick grabbed his arm.

"See you at dinner, later?"

Wu went pink. "Actually… I've already passed on my apologies to Jan. It's all a little last minute, but uh… I've got a date."

Denny looked back, intrigued. He'd seen quite a few of the Wu/Bruce Lee video shots on the student's online pages while secretly downloading a couple of pictures of sooty-looking Jan. "The Phys Ed teacher you rescued?"

"Mariam." Wu shuffled his feet. "I know it's not the done thing, but I was off-shift, she saw me in the bar…"

Nick clapped him on the shoulder. "Good for you! Did you ask her out, or….?"

"Well, she came over and we said hi, then she said she really liked my moves, my integrity and my bravery. I told her that I really loved her legs, and―"

Denny gaped. "You got integrity and bravery and she got 'nice legs'?"

"I was nervous and all I could remember were those teeny-tiny gym pants! So sue the Wu! I moved onto more profound stuff later in the conversation. Anyway, we're continuing the conversation, so I'm happy."

Den and Nick both shook Wu's hand before he tootled off, beaming, stopping to do a mid-air heel-clip on his way out. He grinned, then checked his watch. Shit. Running late. "C'mon mate, help me hurry the others."

"No need to hurry me," Hank muttered, coming up from behind in the eye-patch and leather-jacketed garb of Nick Fury. "Totally approve of the outfit."

Monroe, thankfully, only had to get his boots on, and he made a magnificent Loki. Carianne was wearing a bib saying 'some fool put my cloak on the wrong way round'. Theo was in his inn-keeper garb, but Jan and Renard were nowhere to be seen. Den's pulse hammered slightly. They had about fifteen minutes to get to the lodge, park and get seats before the Eisbiber crew took everything over.

Denny looked down at Theo. "Know where your dad is, by any chance?"

"In the closet, with Sean."

Great – that's all he needed. The Lion and the Witch, pissing about in the Wardrobe. Denny hammered on the door. "Oi, Aslan! Get a shift on!"

"It's a bit _snug,_ Den!"

"It's supposed to be snug! Minimal air resistance!"

"I'm not flying to the Lodge!"

"You've got another thirty seconds, then I'm going Thor on the door!"

Theo marched up and banged his little fist on the door. "Come ON Daddy!"

Renard emerged from the store cupboard. "He's just getting the boots on."

Theo's face screwed up in annoyance and Den grinned inwardly as the little man folded his arms at the Captain. "Aren't you going to wear your Batman outfit?"

Renard bent down with difficulty, took the little hands and stared long into Theo's eyes. "No."

Den waited for the ensuing argument, Theo's reverse logic, the entanglement, the tears, the emotional blackmail, and Renard's eventual defeat.

Theo just wrinkled his nose disappointedly. "Oh!"

"But I am coming to the nativity."

"Oh. Ok."

"Want to tell me about your day, while we wait for your Dad?"

Theo nodded vigorously. "We did natural disasters again. This time it was salamis."

Renard met Denny's eyes desperately. "Ah… salamis?"

He gave Renard no help, more than a little jealous of his instantly-effective no. "Yeah, they're deadly, didn't you know?"

"Salamis!" Theo repeated indignantly. "Big waves of them! They suck up all the water off the beach then they run in and drown everyone."

"Oh…Tsunamis!" Renard rubbed his head with his hand. "Sorry, I'm a little slow at the moment."

"Got a plastercast round your brain as well, have you?" Denny muttered, still not having forgiven him for bailing out on his Batman costume. And time was ticking on. He hammered on the stockroom door again. "OUT, NOW!"

"Alright, alright!" Jan called from inside, and at the first hint of movement on the door handle, Nick gave Hank 'the signal' to begin the theme music on his laptop.

The door opened as the Superman theme blared through the office and Jan emerged, roughly the same colour as his cape as he raked his fingers back through his flight-proofed hair, absolutely full of wax with the front curl neatly in place. There was a burst of laughter from the guys still in the squad room, then a stunned silence, then a round of applause as he took a twirl in 'the suit'.

Den whistled lowly. Nick and Monroe clapped, and Hank raised his eyepatch to murmur "Way to make the big guy look... bigger!"

Jan met his eye speculatively, and Den winked. "Suits you. Right, let's get moving."

They flocked out of the squad room and down to the car park, Theo holding his hand and murmuring his lines under his breath. Monroe adjusted his ridiculous hat, then conceded that it would have to come off to get into Jan's SUV.

"Loki love hat," Monroe intoned. "Loki reinstating it as soon as we park chariot."

"Loki wear hat in audience, Thor donk Loki with Mjollnir," Denny retorted, beginning to get stage fright on Theo's behalf. They loaded up into the cars, both in the car-park and down the block, making their way to the Lodge. Denny breathed out properly at last as they arrived in time, and Jan swept down to the front with Theo, delivering him safely to Sally to take his position back stage. Den briefly waved to Bud, dressed rather improbably as the Green Arrow, who was sitting close to the front with Janie and the older three kids, in a similar state of nerves. Matty was in the nativity, too.

They took their places as the lights were coming down in the huge underground hall. Jan sat on the aisle to stretch out his blue legs and be close by in case Theo needed emotional rescue. Next to him sat Nick, then Hank, Monroe and Rosalee. Livvy and Renard were on the far end of the aisle, with Remus and Helene taking up positions a little further down so Helene could hear the play and the direction of little feet.

Rosalee smiled across at Denny encouragingly. She'd been let off the whole costume thing, but had made a bit of an effort with the wonder woman tiara, lasso of truth and 80s makeup and hair. Nick nudged Monroe before the drooling created a health and safety hazard. The lights dimmed further apart from a spotlight in front of the stage, into which Sally strode, clapping her hands together.

"Good evening parents! Welcome to the first Beeber Babies nativity play! Now, your little ones have been working really hard to make this a lovely play for you all to remember. I would love it if you all give the _proper parental support at all times_. Enjoy yourselves. Thank you!"

"That means no giggling," Denny muttered quietly down the aisle.

Monroe leant across. "Way to create a bunch of straight-faced adults! Tell them they're not allowed to giggle. Great…"

Den felt Jan's shoulder nudge him from the side and looked over to see a slight smile.

"It'll be fine, Den. Don't worry. Just enjoy."

Den cleared his throat and tried to take it easy as the music started up.

: : : : :

Nick folded his arms as the play began, really looking forward to it. A line of toddlers shambled to the front of the stage, their piping voices ringing out clearly in the hall as, from left to right, they were each allocated a word to call out from "It was a dark night in Bethlehem." They got the words in mostly the right order and shambled off, left and right. From behind them, EisLowen Matty Wurstner stomped to the front of the stage dressed as a lamb – the most furious-looking lamb in nativity history – shouted "animals were sleeping!" and stomped off the stage. Monroe was the first to break the no-giggling rule.

Nick bit his red-and-yellow knuckles. A sideways look caught Bud and Janie beaming proudly in the front row, all moist-eyed. There was a brief, random song and the play began in earnest as a little boy and girl filed onto the stage, far right.

"OH LOOK," Mary shouted, "AN INN!"

"HOW LUCKY!" Joseph agreed, and manhandled the little girl across the stage, almost dislodging the pillow under her cassock. Joseph was being played by Tristan, son of the Unruhigbison arsehole Denny had scrapped with in the car park. Nick glanced sideways at Den, who was watching from between a gap in his fingers. Mary and Joseph pushed their way through a mid-stage curtain to the Inn on the other side, where Theo stood behind a little desk. Nick felt like laughing just feeling the nerves washing off Denny from his left.

"ARE YOU THE INNKEEPER?" Joseph boomed.

"Yep."

"WE ARE WEARY AND NEED A PLACE TO STAY!"

"Well it won't be here," Theo said, "We're full. We've even got Shepherds on the floor in the bathroom."

Denny gave a low groan and tried to stick his head between his knees. Nick managed to bite his lip, but there was a snorting explosion from Hank to his right.

"SHE'S HAVING A BABY!" Joseph rallied, pointing at the cushion. "SHE NEEDS... FOOD AND..."

"Succour," supplied Mary, who was quiet, but clearly on top of her script.

"YEAH! WE NEED FOOD AND SUCKER!"

Theo eyed Mary's bump speculatively. "You need hospital. Now."

"THERE IS NO HOSPITAL IN THIS VILLAGE!"

"Go past the camels and right at the haystack," Theo said kindly, then fumbled around behind the desk, looking for all the world like a hotel manager who'd lost a set of room keys. "Look, I can see you're tired. I'll find you a donkey."

Nick lost his fight with the giggles and stifled the noise in his palms as Joseph gaped helplessly at this unexpected turn in the script.

"That was from our first run-through," Denny protested in a whisper to Jan, breaking out of his friend's mock-throttle, "when I was trying to get him to relax!"

Jan got to his feet and slid round the side of the stage, all grace and swishing cape, and bent down to whisper in Theo's ear.

"But they're not _meant_ to get in at first!" Theo protested in a loud whisper. More murmuring from Jan. "Oh, alright!"

"DO YOU HAVE A BED FOR US?" Joseph said desperately.

"We have a barn," Theo grudgingly admitted. "It's a bit smelly, but I'll clear out the manger. Come on then, if you're coming."

The lights dimmed for the manger scene and the scraping noise of rearranged props and furniture barely concealed the helpless laughter up and down the UFRS seats, Hank almost hyperventilating into his coat next to Nick as the lights came on for the next scene. Thankfully, Theo only had one more line: "Good luck", and trotted off to a round of applause before handing the scene back to Joseph.

Nick was in pain from silent laughter and repeated jabs in the ribs from Denny's elbow (only partly cushioned by the suit) by the time Mary's pillow had been born as a tiny tears doll and the three wise men had forgotten every single one of their lines between them, and then all the children moved on to discordant carol singing.

He was still wiping his eyes by the time Denny pulled in outside Jan's place, and he didn't know who needed more help getting into the front room – him, or Livvy.

They all spilled into the front room, which currently looked like an explosion in a tinsel factory, and Helene briefly hung back to speak to Remus. Nick noted that Denny looked on with his arms folded. Again.

"Do I get to see your gorgeousness again on Boxing Day?"

Helene rolled her eyes. "That is a really, really cheesy line, Remus."

"Do you like cheese?"

"In small doses!"

"Good. The Dutch are good at cheese. It's a national thing. Let's arrange a nibbling session in a couple of days, hé?"

Nick chuckled as he firmly installed his number in her phone, and then swept off with Renard. They weren't staying. Nick was glad in a way… it meant he could completely relax. He was glad that Renard had seen the nativity. Watching the world's most composed man trying to hide in his trenchcoat was a sight that he'd treasure for a little while, and it was good to see him let his hair down a little. It was good that they had a basis to move forward, but things just weren't that cosy, yet.

Moving slightly awkwardly in his Iron Man suit, Nick clanked over to the beanbag by the coffee table and collapsed into it opposite Monroe, who was still spluttering and wiping his face.

"The songs!" he wept, taking his hat off again. "I thought I was going to break something!"

"Not my fault!" Denny repeated for the fifth time, sitting on the edge of the couch. "It was an innocent mishearing that was... catching."

Jan raised his brows as he bent across Denny to place a huge tray of drinks on the coffee table. "I've never heard the porn version of 'We wish you a merry christmas' before, and I never want to hear it again."

Well, that was just asking for it. Simultaneously, Nick, Hank and Monroe burst into 'Good tidings we bring, to you and your _ding_…" making Jan roll his eyes, particularly as Den boomed 'I have excellent news!' at Jan's red-and-yellow groin, which was at face-level with him.

Jan pushed his face away affectionately but disappeared for a few minutes and came back more normally dressed in a pair of jeans and white shirt. Holding an armful of shiny things. "Right folks, presents…."

Nick fell on the little pile growing on his feet like a small kid, guarding them jealously against Theo, who seemed determined to 'help' him to open them. He managed to get a couple open by himself, without little fingers attacking his wrapping up paper. Two new shirts from Jan – very much appreciated – even the little note that came with it. _Dear Grown-up Grimm, stop dressing like a teenager. Love J xx_

Den got him a crate of very decent beers. Monroe's gift was a little art set and a transparency grid so he could transfer the teeny-tiny wesen pictures from his pocket book to his Grimm memoire books (or the Grimm Grimmoires, as he called them) without stuffing up the proportions. Hank got him his own stationery set for his desk at work (to keep him from stealing the stuff all the time) and from Livvy… a big hug and a copy of 'the sound of silence' by Simon and Garfunkel. He burst out laughing.

"I think we can forget the filter rule," he muttered. But Jan put it on the speakers anyway.

There was a moment of noisy happiness from Denny as he charged out to the garage and then ran back in again, holding an electronic drum-kit – his present from Jan. He hugged Jan upside down as he pitched enthusiastically head-first over the couch and then spilled onto the floor in a grinning heap. Theo sat cheerfully on top of him while he set up his Firefighter Pete training tower and practiced squirting everyone with it.

After half an hour, they all sat pretty much hip-high in silver paper, everyone having exchanged the presents they'd left at Jan's over the last few days for a total swap-meet experience. Nick had bought Livvy's for her. She sat on his lap on the bean bag for a little while, then ventured outside for some cool air while Monroe distracted them all reading out filthy passages from his present from Denny – '50 Sheds of Grey'.

Denny met Nick's eye and jerked his head at Livvy. "She alright?"

"It's the first first," Nick said, referring to her significant calendar moment as a single, all over again. At some point in the year, she'd have to deal with his birthday and her birthday, too. And probably with not a huge amount of support from her mom. Livvy didn't look upset, and wasn't glowing, but she did look wistful. It didn't matter that her ex was a lucky escape – it still hurt. He got that.

Jan passed Denny the mistletoe. "Take her mind off Graham, eh?"

Denny grinned. "I'll do my best…"

Nick sat back cheerfully as Denny snuck up behind Livvy and spoke quietly to her for a few minutes, rubbing her shoulder. She chatted back quietly and Nick noticed her glowing white as she laughed slightly. White – not pink. She'd gone white this morning when he'd made her breakfast. Happy. He was happy _for_ her.

Then through the window, he heard Denny say 'Ooo, look! Portable Mistletoe!"

Livvy looked up, Denny's face came down and he snogged her absolutely silly, during which the white glow off the front porch became absolutely blinding and Nick had to follow Jan into the kitchen to get his vision back. Theo cut the kiss short by banging his fist on the window and yelling 'EUGH!' at them. Nick very much doubted that she was thinking much about Graham anymore, or that she'd be thinking about him for the rest of the evening. Or possibly, from the continued glow and crossed eyes as they came back indoors, for the next couple of weeks. She'd probably even survive her Mom's Boxing Day visit, still glowing white.

Nick popped open another drink, watching everyone completely unwind to the point that Hank and Monroe were playing chess across Rosalee's bump, accusing each other of moving the pieces whenever little one kicked inside. He knew difficult stuff was coming, but it all seemed… completely manageable with this lot around.

Jan nudged him. "You alright, Nick?"

"Definitely." Then Nick remembered something Renard had said earlier. "The Captain said he'd lost you to Personnel. What did he mean?"

"I'm off the Squad – back to Captaincy. I'm Director of Personnel, now."

"What?" Nick blinked. He needed someone like Jan on the streets and cases with him. "Uh, I mean… congratulations but… isn't that usually a punishment post? Like if you write off the AC's car, or something?"

"DeMarcos did give me the post," Jan chuckled, "but he evidently he gave Renard some blerther about 'putting the people person in charge of the people'. I'm quite happy with that, as it happens. Means I get to spend more time with these two." He cuddled Carianne and nodded his head over at Theo, who'd taken over the iPad to select dance music.

"Won't your lowen streak miss the 'live' stuff?" Nick yelled, trying to be heard over the top of the speaker music.

"Not really, Nick. I'm essentially Non-Violent."

"You belted me with a fish a few days ago. Didn't feel very non-violent to me."

"That was a mackerel. If I were violent, it would've been a tuna."

Nick chuckled. It was good to see Jan back to his former self, even if he did think it was madness cooping up a lion in an office. He was going to argue his point, but 'Gangnam Style' blasted its way through the loudspeakers, getting everyone to their feet – including Rosalee. Nick took Carianne from Jan and danced with her, while he, Denny, Hank and Monroe went into a frenzy of ridiculous but very coordinated lassoing. Weird, how life had gone from being very, very hard to very, very promising in just over a week. He let himself go a little bit, took a swig of beer, handed Carianne to Livvy, and joined in the dancing.

**X x X**

Sean returned to his office to find the huge box still on his desk. Yeah, like he'd dress as Batman in his own squad room. He may be an increasingly wieder Hexenbiest, but he still had his standards, thanks very much. He opened the box, but the Batman costumed wasn't folded in there, as he'd believed. Instead, he and saw a note from Miller, on top of a new long-sleeved teeshirt, this one reading 'Dark Dude' instead of 'Evasive Dude'. The note read simply '_get your solitary arse over to ours for dinner, 6.30 start. Non-negotiable.'_

He smiled, slightly, very much appreciating the gesture.

As it happened, his 'arse' wasn't solitary this evening. He and Remus had plans to see how much he could drink and still remain upright on his crutches. He was looking forward to that. And for the first time in so long, he was actually looking forward to going back to work after he'd survived his hangover. There was a team at work now and he was inside it, rather than outside. At some point, it might even be a family.

He did plan to stop off at Jan's – just for a moment – to drop off the little present he'd got for Theo. He'd been somewhat distracted, earlier. He got the shiny little box out of his desk and locked up, smiling at Remus as they headed for the car park. It was nice… to have someone to spend Christmas Eve with.

He put the Firefighter Pete toy accessory on the back seat as Remus pulled out onto the street.

Denny wouldn't be particularly happy with him, Sean reflected with a grin, but he couldn't resist the aptness of the gift and had gone back to buy it.

It really _was_ what every family needed at Christmas.

A burning building.

THE END!

_**Author's note…**_

**I'd like to thank with HUGE hugs and kisses all of you who have followed, favourited, and those of you who have been so generous and detailed in your reviews over the course of this story and the series. I cannot believe I've effectively written a Grimm novel here, lol, in the time taken for a series of Grimm to pass… **

**Particular thanks to Nahaliel, Shadewatcher, General Z, Miguard and Morena for kicking my butt in the nicest possible way and keeping me going during low-motivation and confidence points when my make-it-up-as-i-go policy was getting on top of me. D Squirrel – huge hugs for making me laugh so much with your chapter-by-chapter observations since… pretty much the first story I wrote, actually! Many thanks to those of you who have also helped me with language, donated an anecdote (thank you for the black pepper cake story, Morena!) and generally helped a flappy artiste to be less of a diva and more of an author. **

**I'm really grateful for all your support. I had writer's block for 8 years before returning to this board and feel very different about writing now. I might even have another go at writing that damn novel that's been gathering dust for the last four of those 8 years!**

**I've still got the Grimm Grimmoire going and will update it, and will post a shorter story in a while (when I've got my breath back) to round things up – 'The Blutbau Cometh'. I've been asked by a couple of people if I'd consider writing some early-years pieces, featuring Jan and Nick when he was a rookie. I think this would be fun, but as it would be a blatant AU thing, I'd be grateful for a show of hands if you'd be interested in reading.**

**I know this chapter's been super-long but hey, it's a finale.**

**Thanks a million for following!**

**Tig xxxxx**


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